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THE 

DOLLY DIALOGUES 


BY 

ANTHONY HOPE 

AUTHOR OF “THB PRISONER OF ZENDA,” ETC. 


These are foolish things to all the wise — 
And I love wisdom more than she loves me 


CHICAGO: 

E. A. WEEKS & COMPANY 

521-531 Wabash Ave. 

v* to Z 


PZ3 

DoP 

l-fcr 


486555 

AUG 1 2 1942 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Liberal Education 5 

II. Cordial Relations 14 

III. Retribution 24 

IV. The Perverseness of It 33 

V. A Matter of Duty 42 

VI. My Last Chance 52 

VII. The Little Wretch 62 

VIII. An Expensive Privilege 72 

IX. A Very Dull Affair 62 

X. Strange but True 93 

XI. The Very Latnst Thing....... 104 

XII. An Uncounted Hour 113 

XIII. A Reminiscence 123 

XIV. A Fine Day 133 

XV. The House Opposite 142 

XVI. A Quick Change 152 

XVII. A Slight Mistake 162 

XVIII. The Other Lady 172 

XIX. What Might Have Been 182 

XX. One Way In 192 



THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


i 

B ^Liberal Education 

“There’s ingratitude for you!” Miss Dolly 
Foster exclaimed suddenly. 

“Where?” I asked, rousing myself from med- 
itation. 

She pointed to a young man who had just 
passed where we sat. He was dressed very 
smartly, and was walking with a lady attired 
in the height of the fashion. 

“I made that man,” said Dolly, “and now 
he cuts me dead before the whole of the Row ! 
It’s atrocious. Why, but for me, do you sup- 
pose he’d beat this moment engaged to three 
thousand a year and — and the plainest girl in 
London ?” 

“Not that,” I pleaded; “think, of— ” 

5 


G 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Well, very plain anyhow. I was quite ready 
to bow to him. I almost did.” 

“In fact you did?” 

“I didn’t. I declare I didn’t.” 

“Oh, well, you didn’t then. It only looked 
like it.” 

“I met him,” said Miss Dolly, “three years 
ago. At that time he was — oh, quite unpre- 
sentable. He was everything he shouldn’t be. 
He was a teetotaler, you know, and he didn’t 
smoke, and he was always going to concerts. 
Oh, and he wore his hair long, and his trou- 
sers short, and his hat on the back of his head. 
And his umbrella — ” 

“Where did he wear that?” 

“He carried that, Mr. Carter. Don’t be 
silly! Carried it unrolled, you know, and 
generally a paper parcel in the other hand; 
and he had spectacles too.” 

“He has certainly changed outwardly at 
least.” 

“Yes, I know; well, I did that. I took him 
in hand, and I just taught him, and now — !” 

“Yes, I know that. But how did you teach 


A LIBERAL EDUCATION 


7 


him? Give him Saturday evening lectures, 
or what?” 

“Oh, every-evening lectures, and most- 
morning walks. And I taught him to dance, 
and I broke his wretched fiddle with my own 
hands!” 

“What very arbitrary distinctions you 
draw !” 

“I don’t know what you mean I do like 
a man to be smart, anyhow. Don’t you, Mr. 
Carter? You’re not so smart as you might 
be. Now, shall I take you in hand?” And 
she smiled upon me. 

“Let’s hear your method. What did you 
do to him ?” 

“To Phil Meadows? Oh, nothing. I just 
slipped in a remark here and there, whenever 
he talked nonsense. I used to speak just at 
the right time, you know.” 

“But how had your words such influence, 
Miss Foster?” 

“Oh, well, you know, Mr Carter, I make 
it a condition that he should do just what I 
wanted in little things like that. Did he think 


8 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


I was going to walk about with a man carry- 
ing a brown paper parcel— as if we had been 
to the shop for a pound of tea?” 

“Still, I don’t see why he should alter all 
his—” 

“Oh, you are stupid! Of course, he liked 
me, you know.” 

“Oh, did he? I see.” 

“You seem to think that very funny.” 

“Not that he did — but that, apparently, he 
doesn’t.” 

“Well, you got out of that rather neatly — 
for you. No, he doesn’t now. You see, he 
misunderstood my motive. He thought — 
well, I do believe he thought 1 cared for him, 
you know. Of course I didn’t.” 

“Not a bit?” 

“Just as a friend — and a pupil, you know. 
And when he’d had his hair cut and bought 
a frock-coat (fancy! he’d never had one!), 
he looked quite nice. He has nice eyes Did 
you notice them?” 

“Lord, no!” 

“Well, you’re so unobservant.” 


A LIBERAL EDUCATION 


“Oh, not always I’ve observed that 
your — ” 

“Please don’t! It’s no use, is it?” 

I looked very unhappy. There is an under- 
standing that I am very unhappy since Miss 
Foster’s engagement to the Earl of Mickle- 
ham was announced. 

“What was I saying before — before you — 
you know — oh, about Phil Meadows, of course. 
I did like him very much, you know, or I 
shouldn’t have taken all that trouble. Why, 
his own mother thanked me!” 

“I have no more to say,” said I. 

“But she wrote me a horrid letter after- 
wards.” 

“You’re so very elliptical.” 

“So very what, Mr Carter?” 

“You leave so much out, I mean. After 
what?” 

“Why, after I sent him away. Didn’t I tell 
you? Oh, we had the most awful scene. He 
raved, Mr. Carter. He called me the most 
horrid names, and — ” 

“Tore his hair?” 


10 


THE DOLLY DALOGUES 


“It wasn’t long enough to get hold of,” 
she tittered. “But don’t laugh. It was really 
dreadful And so unjust ! And then, next day, 
when I thought it was comfortably over, you 
know, he came back, and— and apologized, 
and called himself the most awful names, and 
— well, that was really worse.” 

“What did the fellow complain of?” I asked 
in wondering tones. 

“Oh, he said I’d destroyed his faith in 
women, you know, and that I’d led him on, 
and that I was— well, he was very rude in- 
deed. And he went on writing me letters like 
that for a whole year! It made me quite 
uncomfortable. ” 

“But he didn't go back to short trousers 
and a fiddle, did he?” I asked anxiously. 

“Oh, no. But he forgot all he owed me, 
and he told me that his heart was dead, and 
that he should never love any one again ” 

“But he’s going to marry that girl.” 

“Oh, he doesn’t care abcui her,” said Miss 
Dolly reassuringly. “It’s the money, you 
know. He hadn’t a farthing of his own. Now 
he’ll be set up for life.” 


A LIBERAL EDUCATION 


11 


“And it’s all due to you !” said I admir- 
ingly. 

“Well, it is, really. ” 

“I don’t call her such a bad-looking girl, 
though.” (I hadn’t seen her face.) 

“Mr. Carter! She’s hideous /” 

I dropped that subject. 

“And now,” said Miss Dolly again, “he cuts 
me dead!” 

“It is the height of ingratitude. Why, to 
love you was a liberal education !” 

“Yes, wasn’t it? How nicely you put that. 
‘A liberal education!’ I shall tell Archie.” 
(Archie is Lord Mickleham.) 

“What, about Phil Meadows?” 

“Goodness me, no, Mr. Carter. Just what 
you said, you know.” 

“But why not tell Mickleham about Phil 
Meadows?” I urged. “It’s all to your credit, 
you know.” 

“I know, but men are so foolish. You see, 
Archie thinks — ” 

“Of course he does.” 

“You might let me finish.” 


12 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Archie thinks you were never in love be- 
fore.” 

“Yes, he does. Well, of course, I wasn’t in 
love with Phil — ” 

“Not a little bit?” 

“Oh, well — ” 

“Nor with any one else?” 

Miss Dolly prodded the path with her par- 
asol. 

“Nor with any one else?” I asked again. 

Miss Dolly looked for an instant in my di- 
rection. 

“Nor with any one else?” said I. 

Miss Dolly looked straight in front of her. 

“Nor with — ” I began. 

“Hullo, old chappie, where did you spring 
from?” 

“Why, Archie!” cried Miss Dolly. 

“Oh, how are you, Mickleham, old man? 
Take this seat; I’m just off — just off. Yes, 
I was, upon my honor — got to meet a man 
at the club. Good-bye, Miss Foster. Jove! 
I’m late!” 

And as I went I heard Miss Dolly say, “I 


A LIBERAL EDUCATION 


13 


thought you were never coming, Archie, 
dear!” Well, she didn’t think he was coming 
just then. No more did I. 


II 


Gorfctal delations 

The other day I paid a call on Miss Dolly 
Foster for the purpose of presenting to her my 
small offering on the occasion of her marriage 
to Lord Mickleham. It was a pretty little 
bit of jewelry — a pearl heart, broken (rubies 
played the part of blood) and held together 
by a gold pin, set with diamonds, the whole 
surmounted by an earl’s coronet. I had taken 
some trouble about it, and I was grateful when 
Miss Dolly asked me to explain the symbol- 
ism. 

“It is my heart, ”1 observed. “The fracture 
is of your making; the pin — ” 

Here Miss Dolly interrupted; to tell the 
truth I was not sorry, for I was fairly grav- 
eled for the meaning of the pin. 

“What nonsense, Mr. Carter !” said she; 

14 


CORDIAL RELATION 


15 


“but it’s awfully pretty. Thanks, so very, 
very much. Aren’t relations funny people?” 

“If you wish to change the subject, pray 
do,” said I. “I’ll change anything except my 
affections.” 

“Look here,” she pursued, holding out a 
bundle of letters. “Here are the congratula- 
tory epistles from relations. Shall I read you 
a few?” 

“It will be a most agreeable mode of passing 
the time,” said I. 

“This is from Aunt Georgiana — she’s a 
widow — lives at Cheltenham. ‘My dearest 
Dorothea — ” ’ 

“Who?” 

“Dorothea’s my name, Mr. Carter. It 
means the gift of heaven, you know.” 

“Precisely. Pray proceed, Miss Dolly. I 
did not at first recognize you.” 

‘ “My dearest Dorothea, I have heard the 
news of your engagement to Lord Mickleham 
with deep thankfulness. To obtain the love 
of an honest man is a great prize. I hope 
you will prove worthy of it. Marriage is a 
trial and an opportunity — ’ ” 


16 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Hear, hear!” said I. “A trial for the hus- 
band and — ” 

“Be quiet, Mr. Carter. ‘A trial and an op- 
portunity. It searches the heart and it affords 
a sphere of usefulness which — * So she goes 
on, you know. I don’t see why I need be 
lectured just because I’m going to be married, 
do you, Mr. Carter?” 

“Let’s try another,” said I. “Who’s that 
on pink paper?” 

“Oh, that’s Georgy Vane. She’s awful 
fun. ‘Dear old Dolly, — So you’ve brought 
it off. Hearty congrats. I thought you were 
going to be silly and throw away — ’ There’s 
nothing else there, Mr. Carter. Look here. 
Listen to this. It’s from Uncle William. 
He’s a clergyman, you know. ‘My dear 
Niece, — I have heard with great gratification 
of your engagement. Your aunt and I unite in 
all good wishes. I recollect Lord Mickleham’s 
father when I had a curacy near Worcester. 
He was a regular attendant at church and 
a supporter of all good works in the diocese. 
If only his son takes after him (fancy Archie!) 


CORDIAL RELATIONS 


17 


you have secured a prize. I hope you have 
a proper sense of the responsibilities you are 
undertaking. Marriage affords no small op- 
portunities; it also entails certain trials — ’ ” 

“Why, you’re reading Aunt Georgiana 
again.” 

“Am I? No, it’s Uncle William.” 

“Then let’s try a fresh cast — unless you’ll 
finish Georgy Vane’s.” 

“Well, here’s Cousin Susan’s. She’s an 
old maid, you know. It’s very long. Here’s 
a bit: ‘Woman has it in her power to exer- 
cise a sacred influence. I have not the pleas- 
ure of knowing Lord Mickleham, but I hope, 
my dear, that you will use your power over 
him for good. It is useless for me to deny 
that when you stayed with me, I thought you 
were addicted to frivolity. Doubtless mar- 
riage will sober you. Try to make a good 
use of its lessons. I am sending you a bis- 
cuit tin’ — and so on.” 

“A very proper letter,” said I. 

Miss Dolly indulged in a slight grimace, 
and took up another letter. 


18 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“This," she said, “is from my sister-in-law, 
Mrs. Algernon Foster." 

“A daughter of Lord Doldrums, wasn’t 
she?" 

“Yes. ‘My dear Dorothea — I have heard 
your news. I do hope it will turn out hap- 
pily. I believe that any woman who con- 
scientiously does her duty can find happiness 
in married life. Her husband and children 
occupy all her time and all her thoughts, and 
if she can look for few of the lighter pleas- 
ures of life, she has at least the knowledge 
that she is of use in the world. Please accept 
the accompanying volumes (it’s Browning )as 
a small — •’ I say, Mr. Carter, do you think 
it’s really like that?” 

“There is still time to draw back," I ob- 
served. 

“Oh, don’t be silly. Here, this is my brother 
Tom’s. ‘Dear Dol, — I thought Mickleham 
rather an ass when I met him, but I dare say 
you know best. What’s his place like? 
Does he take a moor? I thought I read that 
he kept a yacht. Does he? Give him my 


CORDIAL RELATIONS 


19 


love and a kiss. Good luck, old girl. Tom. 
P. S. — I’m glad it’s not me, you know.’ ” 

“A disgusting letter,” I observed. 

“Not at all,” said Miss Dolly, dimpling. 
“It’s just like dear old Tom. Listen to 
grandpapa’s. ‘My dear Granddaughter, The 
alliance (I rather like it’s being called an al- 
liance, Mr. Carter. It sounds like the Royal 
Family, doesn’t it?) you are about to contract 
is in all respects a suitable one. I send you 
my blessing, and a small check to help towards 
your trousseau. — Yours affectionately, Jno. 
Wm. Foster.’” 

“That,” said I, “is the best up to now.” 

“Yes, it’s 500,” said she, smiling. “Here’s 
old Lady M.’s.” 

“ Whose?' 1 I exclaimed. 

“Archie’s mother’s, you know. ‘My dear 
Dorothea (as I suppose I must call you now) — 
Archibald has informed us of his engagement, 
and I and the girls (there are five girls, Mr. 
Carter) hasten to welcome his bride. I am 
sure Archie will make his wife very happy. 
He is rather particular (like his dear father), 


20 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


but he has a good heart, and is not fidgety 
about his meals. Of course we shall be de- 
lighted to move out of The Towers at once. 

I hope we shall see a great deal of you soon. 
Archie is full of your praises, and we thor- 
oughly trust his taste. Archie — ’ It’s all 
about Archie, you see.” 

“Naturally,” said I. 

“Well, I don’t know. I suppose I count a 
little, too. Oh, look here. Here’s Cousin 
Fred’s, but he’s always so silly. I shan’t read 
you his.” 

“O, just a bit of it,” I pleaded. 

“Well, here’s one bit. ‘I suppose I can’t 
murder him, so I must wish him joy. All I 
can say is, Dolly, that he’s the luckiest (some- 
thing I can’t read — either fellow or — devil) I 
ever heard of. I wonder if you’ve forgotten 
that evening — ’” 

“Well, go on.” For she stopped. 

“Oh, there’s nothing else.” 

“In fact, you have forgotten the evening?” 

“Entirely,” said Miss Dolly, tossing her 
head. “But he sends me a love of a bracelet. 
He can’t possibly pay for it, poor boy.” 


CORDIAL RELATIONS 


21 


“Young knave!” said I severely. (I had paid 
for my pearl heart.) 

“Then come a lot from girls. Oh, there’s 
one from Maud Tottenham she’s a second 
cousin, you know — it’s rather amusing. ‘I used 
to know your ftanct slightly. He seemed very 
nice, but it’s a long while ago, and I never 
saw much of him. I hope he is really fond of 
you, and that it is not a mere fancy . Since 
you love him so much, it would be a pity if 
he did not care deeply for you.’” 

“Interpret, Miss Dolly,” said I. 

“She tried to catch him herself,” said Miss 
Dolly. 

“Ah, I see. Is that all?” 

“The others aren’t very interesting.” 

“Then let’s finish Georgy Vane’s.” 

“Really?” she asked, smiling. 

“Yes. Really.” 

“Oh, if you don’t mind, I don’t,” said she, 
laughing, and she hunted out the pink note 
and spread it before her. 

“Let me see. Where was I? Oh, here. 
‘I thought you were going to be silly and 


22 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


throw away your chances on some of the men 
who used to flirt with you. Archie Mickleham 
may not be a genius, but he’s a good fellow 
and a swell and rich; he’s not a pauper, like 
Phil Meadows, or a snob, like Charlie Daw- 
son, or — shall I go on, Mr. Carter? No, I 
won’t. I didn’t see what it was.” 

“Yes, you shall go on.” 

“O, no, I can’t,” and she folded up the 
letter. 

“Then I will,” and I’m ashamed to say I 
snatched the letter. Miss Dolly jumped to 
her feet. I fled behind the table. She ran 
round. I dodged. 

“‘Or — ’” I began to read. 

“Stop!” cried she. 

“‘Or a young spendthrift like that man — 
I forget his name — whom you used to go on 
with at such a pace at Monte Carlo last win- 
ter ’” 

“Stop!” she cried, stamping her foot. I 
read on: 

“ ‘No doubt he was charming, my dear, and 
no doubt anybody would have thought you 


CORDIAL RELATIONS 


23 


meant it; but I never doubted you .Still, 
wern’t you just a little — ’” 

“Stop!” she cried. “You must stop, Mr 
Carter.” 

So then I stopped. I folded the letter and 
handed it back to her. Her cheeks flushed 
red as she took it. 

“I thought you were a gentleman,” said 
she, biting her lip. 

“I was at Monte Carlo last winter myself,” 
said I. 

“Lord Mickleham,” said the butler, throw- 
ing open the door. 


Ill 


iRetribution 

In future I am going to be careful what I 
do. I am also — and this is by no means less 
important — going to be very careful what Miss 
Dolly Foster does. Everybody knows (if I 
may quote her particular friend Nellie Phae- 
ton) that dear Dolly means no harm, but she 
is “just a little harumscarum.” I thanked 
Miss Phaeton for the expression. 

The fact is that “old Lady M.” (here I quote 
Miss Dolly) sent for me the other day. I 
have not the honor of knowing the Countess, 
and I went in some trepidation. When I was 
ushered in, Lady Mickleham put up her 
“starers.” (You know those abominations! 
Pince-nez with long torture— I mean tortoise 
— shell handles.) 

“Mr. — er — Carter?” said she. 

24 


RETRIBUTION 


25 


I bowed. I would have denied it if I could. 

“My dears!” said Lady Mickleham. 

Upon this five young ladies who had been 
sitting in five straight-backed chairs, doing 
five pieces of embroidery, rose, bowed, and 
filed out of the room. I felt very nervous. 

A pause followed. Then the Countess ob- 
served — and it seemed at first rather irrele- 
vant — 

“I’ve been reading ar) unpleasant story.” 

“In these days of French influence,” I be- 
gan apologetically (not that I write such 
stories, or any stories, but Lady Mickleham 
invites an apologetic attitude), and my eye 
wandered to the table. I saw nothing worse 
(or better) than the morning paper there. 

“Contained in a friend’s letter,” she con- 
tinued, focusing the “starers” full on my 
face. 

I did not know what to do, so I bowed 
again. 

“It must have been as painful for her to 
write as for me to read,” Lady Mickleham 
went on. “And that is saying much. Be 
seated, pray.” 


2G 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


I bowed, and sat down in one of the straight- 
backed chairs. I also began, in my fright, 
to play with one of the pieces of embroidery. 

“Is Lady Jane’s work in your way?” (Lady 
Jane is named after Jane, the famous Coun- 
tess, Lady-in-Waiting to Caroline of Ans- 
pach.) 

I dropped the embroidery, and put my foot 
on my hat. 

“I believe, Mr. Carter, that you are ac- 
quainted with Miss Dorothea Foster?” 

“I have that pleasure,” said I. 

“Who is about to be married to my son, the 
Earl of Mickleham?” 

“That, I believe, is so,” said I. I was be- 
ginning to pull myself together. 

“My son, Mr. Carter, is of a simple and 
trusting disposition. Perhaps I had better 
come to the point. I am informed by this 
letter that, in conversation with the writer 
the other day, Archibald mentioned, quite 
incidentally, some very startling facts. 
Those facts concern you, Mr. Carter.” 

“May I ask the name of the writer?” 


RETRIBUTION 


27 


“I do not think that is necessary,” said she. 
“She is a lady in whom I have the utmost 
confidence.” 

“That is, of course, enough,” said I. 

“It appears, Mr Carter — and you will ex- 
cuse me if I speak plainly — (I set my teeth) 
that you have, in the first place, given to my 
son’s bride a wedding present, which I can 
only describe as — ” 

“A pearl ornament,” I interposed; “with a 
ruby or two, and — ” 

“A pearl heart,” she corrected; “er — frac- 
tured, and that you explained that this absurd 
article represented your heart.” 

“Mere badinage ,” said I. 

“In execrably bad taste,” said she. 

I bowed. 

“In fact, most offensive. But that is not 
the worst. From my son’s further statements 
it appears that on one occasion, at least, he 
found you and Miss Foster engaged in what 
I can only call — ” 

I raised my hand in protest. The Countess 
took no notice. 


28 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“What I can only call romping” 

She shot this word at me with extraordi- 
nary violence, and when it was out she shud- 
dered. 

“Romping!” I cried. 

“A thing not only atrociously vulgar at all 
times, but under the circumstances — need I 
say more? Mr. Carter, you were engaged in 
chasing my son’s future bride round a table!” 

“Pardon me, Lady Mickleham. Your son’s 
future bride was engaged in chasing me round 
a table ” 

“It is the same thing, ”said Lady Mickleham. 

“I should have thought there was a distinc- 
tion,” said I. 

“None at all.” 

I fell back on a second line of defense 

“I didn’t let her catch me, Lady Mickle- 
ham,” I pleaded. 

-Lady Mickleham grew quite red. This 
made me feel more at my ease. 

“No, sir. If you had — ” 

“Goodness knows!” I murmured, shaking 
my head. 


RETRIBUTION 


29 


“As it happened, however, my son entered 
in the middle of this disgraceful — ” 

“It was at the beginning,” said I, with a 
regretful sigh. 

Upon this — and 1 have really never been 
so pleased at anything in all my life — the 
Countess, the violence of her emotions pene- 
trating to her very fingers, gripped the han- 
dle of her “starers” with such force that she 
broke it in two! She was a woman of the 
world, and in a moment she looked as if 
nothing had happened. With me it was 
different; and that I am not now on Lady 
Mickleham’s visiting-list is due to {inter alia 
ct enormia ) the fact that I laughed ! It was 
out before I could help it. In a second I 
was as grave as a mute The mischief was 
done. The Countess rose. I imitated her 
example. 

“You are amused?” said she, and her tones 
banished the last of my mirth. I stumbled 
on my hat and it rolled to her feet. 

“It is not probable,” she observed, “that 
after Miss Foster’s marriage you will meet her 


BO 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


often. You will move in — er — somewhat 
different circles.” 

“I may catch a glimpse of her in her car- 
riage from the top of my ’bus,” said I. 

“Your milieu and my son’s — ” 

“I know his valet, though,” said I. 

Lady Mickleham rang the bell. I stooped 
for my hat. To tell the truth I was rather 
afraid to expose myself in such a defenseless 
attitude, but the Countess preserved her self- 
control. The butler opened the door. I 
bowed, and left the Countess regarding me 
through the maimed “starers.” Then I found 
the butler smiling. He probably knew the 
signs of the weather. I wouldn’t be Lady 
Mickleham’s butler if you made me a duke. 

As I walked home through the Park I met 
Miss Dolly and Mickleham. They stopped. 

I walked on. Mickleham seized me by the 
coat-tails. 

“Do you mean to cut us?” he cried. 

“Yes,” said I. 

“Why, what the deuce? — ” he began. 

“I’ve seen your mother,” said I. “I wish, 


RETRIBUTION 


31 


Mickleham, that when you do happen to in- 
trude as you did the other day, you wouldn’t 
repeat what you see.” 

“Lord!” he cried. “She’s not heard of 
that. I only told Aunt Cynthia.” 

I said something about Aunt Cynthia. 

“Does — does she know it all f” asked Miss 
Dolly. 

“More than all — much more.” 

“Didn’t you smooth it over?” said Miss 
Dolly reproachfully. 

“On reflection,” said I, “I don’t know that 
l did — much ” (I hadn’t, you know.) 

Suddenly Mickleham burst out laughing. 

“What a game!” he exclaimed. 

“That’s all very well for you,” said Dolly. 
“But do you happen to remember that we 
dine there to-night?” Archie grew grave. 

“I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves,” said I. “I 
always cling to the belief that the wicked are 
punished.” And I looked at Miss Dolly. 

“Never you mind, little woman,” said Ar- 
chie, drawing Miss Dolly’s arm through his t 
“I’ll see you through. After all, everybody 
knows that old Carter’s an ass ” 


32 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


That piece of universal knowledge may help 
matters, but I do not quite see how. I walked 
on, for M!ss Dolly had quite forgotten me, 
and was looking up at Archie Mickleham like 
— well, hang it, in the way they do, you know. 
So I just walked on. 

I believe Miss Dolly has got a husband who 
is (let us say) good enough for her. And, 
for one reason and another, I am glad of it. 
And I also believe that she knows it. And I 
am — I suppose — glad of that too. Oh, yes, 
of course I am. Of course. 


Ube perverseness of it 


“I tell you what, Mr. Carter,” said Miss 
Nellie Phaeton, touching up Rhino with her 
whip, “love in a cottage is—” 

“Lord forgive us, cinders, ashes, dust,” I 
quoted. 

We were spanking round the Park behind 
Ready and Rhino. Miss Phaeton’s horses 
are very large; her groom is very small, and 
her courage is indomitable. I am no great 
hand at driving myself, and I am not always 
quite comfortable. Moreover, the stricter 
part of my acquaintance consider, I believe, 
that Miss Phaeton’s attentions to me are 
somewhat pronounced, and that I ought not 
to drive with her in the Park. 

“You’re right,” she went on. “What a girl 
33 


34 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


wants is a good house and lots of cash, and 
some ridin’ and a little huntin’ and — ” 

“ A few ‘g’s’ !” I cried in shuddering en- 
treaty. “If you love me, a ‘g’ or two.” 

“Well, I suppose so,” said she. “You can't 
go ridin’ without gees, can you?” 

Apparently one could go driving without 
any, but I did not pursue the subject. 

“It’s only in stories that people are in love 
when they marry,” observed Miss Phaeton 
reflectively. 

“Yes, and then it’s generally with some- 
body else,” said I. 

“Oh, if you count that!" said she, hitting 
Ready rather viciously. We bounded for- 
ward, and I heard the little groom bumping 
on the back seat. I am always glad not to 
be a groom — it’s a cup-and-ball sort of life, 
which must be very wearying. 

“Were you ever in love?” she asked, just 
avoiding a brougham which contained the 
Duchess of Dexminster. (If, by the way, I 
have to run into any one, I like it to be a 
Duchess; you get a much handsomer para- 
graph.) 


THE PERVERSENESS OF IT 


35 


“Yes,” said I. 

“Often?” 

“Oh, not too often, and I always take great 
care, you know.” 

“What of?” 

“That it shall be quite out of the question, 
you know. It’s not at all difficult. I only 
have to avoid persons of moderate means.” 

“But aren’t you a person of — ?” 

“Exactly. That’s why. So I choose 
either a pauper — when it’s impossible — or 
an heiress — when it’s preposterous. See?” 

“But don’t you ever want to get — ?” began 
Miss Phaeton. 

“Let’s talk about something else,”said I. 

“I believe you’re humbuggin’ me,” said 
Miss Phaeton. 

“I am offering a veiled apology,” said I. 

“Stuff!” said she. “You know you told 
Dolly Foster that I should make an excellent 
wife for a trainer.” 

Oh, these women! A man had better talk 
to a phonograph. 

“Or anybody else,” said I politely. 


36 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


Miss Phaeton whipped up her horses. 

“Look out! There’s the mounted police- 
man,” I cried. 

“No, he isn’t. Are you afraid?” she re- 
torted. 

“I’m not fit to die,” I pleaded. 

“I don’t care a pin for your opinion, you 
know,” she continued (I had never supposed 
that she did) ;“ but what did you mean by it?” 

“I never said it.” 

“Oh!” 

“All right — I never did.” 

“Then Dolly invented it?” 

“Of course,” said I steadily. 

“On your honor?” 

“Oh, come, Miss Phaeton!” 

“Would — would other people think so?” 
she asked, with a highly surprising touch of 
timidity. 

“Nobody would,” I said. “Only a snarling 
old wretch would say so, just because he 
thought it smart.” 

There was a long pause. Then Miss Phae- 
ton asked me abruptly: 


THE PERVERSENESS OF IT 


37 


“You never met him, did you?” 

“No ” 

A pause ensued. We passed the Duchess 
again, an 1 scratched the nose of her poodle, 
which was looking out of the carriage win- 
da vv. Miss Phaeton flicked Rhino, and the 
groom behind went plop-plop on the seat. 

“He lives in town, you know,” remarked 
Miss Phaeton. 

“They mostly do — and write about the 
country,” said I. 

“Why shouldn’t they?” she asked fiercely. 

“My dear Miss Phaeton, by all means let 
them,” said I. 

“He’s awfully clever, you know,” she con- 
tinued; “but he wouldn’t always talk. Some- 
times he just sat and said nothin’, or read a 
book.” 

A sudden intuition discovered Mr. Gay’s 
feelings to me. 

“You were talking about the run, or some- 
thing, I suppose?” 

“Yes, or the bag, you know.” 

As she spoke she pulled up Ready and 


38 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


Rhino. The little groom jumped down and 
stood under (not at) their heads. I leant 
back and surveyed the crowd sitting and walk- 
ing. Miss Phaeton flicked a fly off Rhino’s 
ear, put her whip in the socket, and leant 
back also. 

“Then I suppose you didn’t care much 
about him?” I asked. 

“Oh, I liked him pretty well,” she answered 
very carelessly. 

At this moment, looking along the walk, I 
saw a man coming towards us. He was a 
handsome fellow, with just a touch of “soft- 
ness” in his face. He was dressed in correct 
fashion, save that his hair was a trifle longer, 
his coat a trifle fuller, his hat a trifle larger, his 
tie a trifle looser than they were worn by most. 
He caught my attention, and I went on look- 
ing at him for a little while, till a light move- 
ment of my companion’s made me turn my 
head. 

Miss Phaeton was sitting bolt upright; she 
fidgeted with the reins; she took her whip out 
of the socket and put it back again; and, to 
my amazement, her cheeks were very red. 


THE PERVERSENESS OF IT 


39 


Presently the man came opposite the car- 
riage. Miss Phaeton bowed. He lifted his 
hat, smiled, and made as if to pass on. Miss 
Phaeton held out her hand. I could see a mo- 
mentary gleam of surprise in his eyes, as 
though he thought her cordiality more than he 
might have looked for — possibly even more 
than he cared about. But he stopped and 
shook hands. 

“How are you, Mr Gay?” she said, not in- 
troducing me. 

“Still with your inseparables!” he said 
gayly, with a wave of his hand towards the 
horses. “I hope, Miss Phaeton, that in the 
next world your faithful steeds will be allowed 
to bear you company, or what will you do?” 

“O, you think I care for nothin’ but 
horses?” said she petulantly, but she leant 
towards him , and gave me her shoulder. 

“O, no,” he laughed. “Dogs also, and, I’m 
afraid, one day it was ferrets, wasn’t it?” 

“Have — have you written any poetry late- 
ly?” she asked. 

“How conscientious of you to inquire!” he 


40 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


exclaimed, his eyes twinkling. “O, yes, half 
a hundred things. Have you — killed— any- 
thing lately?” 

I could swear she flushed again. Her voice 
trembled as she answered: 

“No, not lately.” 

I caught sight of his face behind her back, 
and I thought I saw a trace of puzzle — noth- 
ing more. He held out his hand. 

“Well, so glad to have seen you, Miss 
Phaeton,” said he, “but I must run on. Good- 
bye.” 

“Good-bye, Mr. Gay,” said she. 

And, lifting his hat again, smiling again 
gayly,he was gone. For a moment or two I 
said nothing Then I remarked: 

“So that’s your friend Gay, is it? He’s 
not a bad-looking fellow.” 

“Yes, that’s him,” said she, and, as she 
spoke, she sank back in her seat for a mo- 
ment. I did not look at her face. Then she 
sat up straight again and took the whip. 

“Want to stay any longer?” she asked. 

“No,” said I. 


THE PERVERSENESS OF IT 


41 


The little groom sprang away, Rhino and 
Ready dashed ahead. ‘ 

.“Shall I drop you at the club?” she asked. 
“I’m goin’ home.” 

“I’ll get out here,” said I. 

We came to a stand again, and I got down. 

“Good-bye,” I said. 

She nodded at me, but said nothing. A 
second later the carriage was tearing down 
the road, and the little groom hanging on for 
dear life. 

Of course it’s all nonsense. She’s not the 
least suited to him; she’d make him miser- 
able, and then be miserable herself. But it 
seems a little perverse, doesn’t it? In fact, 
twice at least between the courses at dinner 
I caught myself being sorry for her. It is, 
when you think of it, so remarkably perverse. 


V 


H /[batter of Buts 

Lady Mickleham is back from her honey- 
moon. I mean young Lady Mickleham — 
Dolly Foster (well, of course I do. Fancy 
the Dowager on a honeymoon!). She signi- 
fied the fact to me by ordering me to call on 
her at tea-time; she had, she said, something 
which she wished to consult me about con- 
fidentially. I went. 

“I didn’t know you were back,” I observed. 

“Oh, we’ve been back a fortnight, but we 
went down to The Towers. They w 7 ere all 
there, Mr. Carter.” 

“All who?” 

“All Archie’s people. The Dowager said 
we must get really to know one another as 
soon as possible. I’m not sure I like really 
k nowing people. It means that they say 
42 


A MATTER OF DUTY 


43 


whatever they like to you, and don’t get up 
out of your favorite chair when you come 
in.” 

“I agree,” said I, “that a soupcon of un- 
familiarity is not amiss.” 

“Of course it’s nice to be one of the fam- 
ily,” she continued. 

“The cat is that,”said I. “I would not give 
a fig for it.” 

“And the Dowager taught me the ways of 
the house.” 

“Ah, she taught me the way out of it.” 

“And showed me how to be most disagree- 
able to the servants.” 

“It is the first lesson of a housekeeper.” 

“And told me what Archie particularly 
liked, and how bad it was for him, poor boy.” 

“What should we do without our mothers? 
I do not, however, see how I can help in all 
this, Lady Mickleham.” 

“How funny that sounds!” 

“Aren’t you accustomed to your dignity 
yet ?” 

I meant from you, Mr. Carter.” 


44 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


I smiled. , That is Dolly’s way. As Miss 
Phaeton says, she means no harm, and it is 
admirably conducive to the pleasure of a tete- 
a-tete. 

“It wasn’t that I wanted to ask you about, ” 
she continued, after she had indulged in a 
pensive sigh (with a dutifully bright smile and 
a glance at Archie’s photograph to follow. 
Her behavior always reminds me of a varied 
and well assorted menu), “It was about 
something much more difficult. You won’t 
tell Archie, will you?” 

“This becomes interesting,” I remarked, 
putting my hat down. 

“You know, Mr. Carter, that before I was 
married — oh, how long ago it seems!” 

“Not at all.” 

“Don’t interrupt. That before I was mar- 
ried I had several — that is to say, several — 
well, several — ” 

“Start quite afresh,” I suggested encour- 
agingly. 

“Well, then, several men were silly enough 
to think themselves — you know.” 


A MATTER OF DUTY 


45 


“No one better,” I assented cheerfully. 

“Oh, if you won’t be sensible! — Well, you 
see, many of them are Archie’s friends as well 
as mine; and, of course, they’ve been to 
call.” 

“It is but good manners,” said I. 

“One of them waited to be sent for, though.” 

“Leave that fellow out,” said I. 

“What I want to ask you is this — and I 
believe you’re not silly, really, you know, ex- 
cept when you choose to be.” 

“Walk in the Row any afternoon,” said I, 
“and you won’t find ten wiser men.”* 

“It’s this. Ought I to tell Archie?” 

“Good gracious! Here’s a problem!” 

“Of course,” pursued Lady Mickleham, 
opening her fan, “it’s in some ways more 
comfortable that he shouldn’t know.” 

“For him?” 

“Yes — and for me. But then it doesn’t 
seem quite fair.” 

“To him?” 

“Yes— and to me. Because if he came to 
know from anybody else, he might exagger- 
ate the things, you know.” 


46 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Impossible !” 

“Mr Carter !” 

“I — er — mean he knows you too well to 
do such a thing.” 

“Oh, I see. Thank you. Yes. What do 
you think?” 

“What does the Dowager say?” 

“I haven’t mentioned it to the Dowager.” 

“But surely, on such a point, her experi- 
ence — ” 

“She can’t have any,” said Lady Mickle- 
ham decisively. “I believe in her husband, 
because I must. But nobody else! You’re not 
giving me your opinion.” 

I reflected for a moment. 

“Haven’t we left out one point to view?” 
I ventured to suggest. 

“I’ve thought it all over very carefully,” 
said she; “both as it would affect me and as 
it would affect Archie.” 

“Quite so. Now suppose you think how it 
would affect them!” 

“Who?” 

“Why, the men.” 


A MATTER OF DUTY 


47 


Lady Mickleham put down her cup of tea. 
“What a very curious idea!” she exclaimed. 

“Give it time to sink in,” said I, helping 
myself to another piece of toast. She sat si- 
lent for a few moments — presumably to allow 
of the permeation I suggested. I finished my 
tea and leant back comfortably. Then I said: 

“Let me take my own case. Shouldn't I 
feel rather awkward — ?” 

“Oh, it’ s no good taking your case,” she 
interrupted. 

“Why not mine as well as another?” 

“Because I told him about you long ago.” 

I was not surprised. But I could not per- 
mit Lady Mickleham to laugh at me in the 
unconscionable manner in which she pro- 
ceeded to laugh. I spread out my hands and 
observed blandly: 

“Why not be guided — as to the others, I 
mean — by your husband’s example?” 

“Archie’s example? What’s that?” 

“I don’t know; but you do, I suppose.” 

“What do you mean, Mr. Carter?” she 
asked, sitting upright. 


48 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Well, has he ever told you about Maggie 
Adeane ?” 

“I never heard of her” 

“Or Lilly Courtenay?” 

“ That girl !” 

“Or Alice Layton?” 

“The red-haired Layton?” 

“Or Florence Cunliffe?” 

“Who was she?” 

“Or Millie Trehearne?” 

“She squints, Mr. Carter.” 

“Or—” 

“Stop, stop! What do you mean? What 
should he tell me?” 

“Oh, I see he hasn’t. Nor, I suppose, about 
Sylvia Fenton, or that little Delaney girl, or 
handsome Miss — what was her name?” 

“Hold your tongue — and tell me what you 
mean.” 

“Lady Mickleham,” said I gravely, “if your 
husband has not thought fit to mention these 
ladies — and others whom I could name — to 
you, how could I presume — ?” 

“Do you mean to tell me that Archie — ?” 


A MATTER OF DUTY 


49 


“He’d only known you three years, you 
see.” 

“Then it was before — ?” 

“Some of them were before,” said I. 

Lady Mickleham drew a long breath. 

“Archie will be in soon,” said she. 

I took my hat. 

“It seems to me,” I observed, “that what 
is sauce — that, I should say, husband and 
wife ought to stand on an equal footing in 
these matters. Since he has — no doubt for 
good reasons — not mentioned to you — ” 

“Alice Layton was a positive fright.” 

“She came last,” said I. “Just before you, 
you know. However, as I was saying — ” 

“And that horrible Sylvia Fenton — ” 

“Oh, he couldn’t have known you long 
then. As I was saying, I should, if I were 
you, treat him as he has treated you. In my 
case it seems to be too late.” 

“I’m sorry I told him that.” 

“Oh, pray don’t mind, it’s of no conse- 
quence. As to the others — ” 

“I should never have thought it of Archie!” 


50 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“One never knows,” said I, with an apolo- 
getic smile. “I don’t suppose he thinks it of 
you.” 

“I won’t tell him a single word. He may 
find out if he likes. Who was the last girl 
you mentioned?” 

“Is it any use trying to remember all their 
names?” I asked in a soothing tone. “No 
doubt he’s forgotten them by now — just as 
you’ve forgotten the others.” 

“And the Dowager told me that he had 
never had an attachment before.” 

“Oh, if the Dowager said that! Of course, 
the Dowager would know!” 

“Don’t be so silly, for goodness sake! 
Are you going?” 

“Certainly I am. It might annoy Archie 
to find me here when he wants to talk to 
you.” 

“Well, I want to talk to him.” 

“Of course you won’t repeat what I’ve — ” 

“I shall find out for myself,” she said.” 

“Good-bye. I hope I’ve removed all your 
troubles?” 


A MATTER OF DUTY 


51 


“O, yes, thank you. I know what to do 
now, Mr. Carter.” 

“Always send for me if you’re in any 
trouble. 1 have some exp — ” 

“Good-bye, Mr. Carter.” 

“Good-bye, Lady Mickleham. And remem- 
ber that Archie, like you — ” 

“Yes, yes; I know. Must you go?” 

“I’m afraid I must. I’ve enjoyed our talk 
so — ” 

“There’s Archie’s step.” 

I left the rcom. On the stairs I met Ar- 
chie. I shook hands sympathetically. I was 
sorry for Archie. But in great causes the in- 
dividual cannot be considered. I had done 
my duty to my sex. 


VI 


/IDs? Xast Cbance 

Now mind,” said Mrs. Hilary Musgrave, im- 
pressively, “this is the last time I shall take 
any trouble about you. She’s a very nice 
girl, quite pretty, and she’ll have a lot of 
money. You can be very pleasant when you 
like—” 

“This unsolicited testimonial — ” 

“Which isn’t often — and if you don’1: do it 
this time I wash my hands of you. Why, 
how old are you?” 

“Hush, Mrs. Hilary.” 

“You must be nearly — ” 

“It’s false — false — false!” 

“Come along,” said Mrs. Hilary, and she 
added, over her shoulder, “she has a slight 
north-country accent.” 

“It might have been Scotch,” said I. 

53 


MY LAST CHANCE 


53 


‘She plays the piano a good deal.” 

“It might have been the fiddle,” said I. 

“She’s very fond of Browning.” 

“It might have been Ibsen,” said I. 

Mrs. Hilary, seeing that I was determined 
to look on the bright side, smiled graciously 
on me and introduced me to the young lady. 
She was decidedly good-looking, fresh and 
sincere of aspect, with large inquiring eyes — 
eyes which I felt would demand a little too 
much of me at breakfast — but then a large 
tea-urn puts that all right. 

“Miss Sophia Milton — Mr. Carter,” said 
Mrs. Hilary, and left us. 

Well, we tried the theaters first; but as 
she had only been to the Lyceum and I had 
only been to the Gaiety, we soon got to the 
end of that. Then we tried Art: she asked 
me what I thought of Degas: I evaded the 
question by criticising a drawing of a horse 
in last week’s Punch — which she hadn’t seen. 
Upon this she started literature. She said 
“Some Qualms and a Shiver” was the book 
of the season. I put my money on “The 


54 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


Queen of the Quorn.” Dead stop again! 
And I saw Mrs. Hilary’s eye upon me; there 
was wrath in her face. Something must be 
done. A brilliant idea seized me. I had read 
that four-fifths of the culture of England 
were Conservative. I also was a Conservative. 
It was four to one on! I started politics. I 
could have whooped for joy when I elicited 
something particularly incisive about the 
ignorance of the masses. 

“I do hope you agree with me,” said Miss 
Milton. “The more one reads and thinks, the 
more one sees how fatally false a theory it is 
that the ignorant masses — people such as I 
have described — can ever rule a great Em- 
pire.” 

“The Empire wants gentlemen; that’s what 
it wants,” said I, nodding my head, and glanc- 
ing triumphantly at Mrs. Hilary. 

“Men and women,” said she, “who are ac- 
quainted with the best that has been said 
and thought on all important subjects.” 

At the time I believed this observation to 
be original, but I have since been told that it 
was borrowed. I was delighted with it. 


MY LAST CHANCE 


55 


“Yes,” said I, “and have got a stake in 
the country, you know, and know how to be- 
have ’emselves in the House, don’t you know?” 

“What we have to do,” pursued Miss Mil- 
ton, “is to guide the voters. These poor rus- 
tics need to be informed — ” 

“Just so,” I broke in. “They have to be 
told—” 

“Of the real nature of the questions — ” 

“And which candidate to support.” 

“Or they must infallibly” — she exclaimed 

“Get their marching orders,” I cried, in 
rapture. It was exactly what I always did 
on my small property. 

“Oh, I didn’t quite mean that,” she said 
reproachfully. 

“Oh, well, neither did I — quite,” I re- 
sponded adroitly. What was wrong with the 
girl now? 

“But with the help of the League — ” she 
went on. 

“Do you belong?” I cried, more delighted 
than ever. 

“O, yes?” said she. “1 think it’s a duty. I 


56 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


worked very hard at the last election. I spent 
days distributing packages of — ” 

Then, I made, I’m sorry to say, a false step. 
I observed, interrupting: 

“But it’s ticklish work now, eh? Six 
months’ ‘hard’ wouldn’t be pleasant, would 
it?” 

“What do you mean, Mr. — er Carter?” she 
asked 

I was still blind I believe I winked, and 
I’m sure I whispered, “Tea” 

Miss Milton drew herself up very straight. 

“I do not bribe ” she said. “What I dis- 
tribute is pamphlets.” 

Now, I suppose that “pamphlets” and 
“blankets” don’t really sound much alike, but 
I was agitated. 

“Quite right,” said I. “Poor old things! 
They can’t afford proper fuel.” 

She rose to her feet. 

“I was not joking,” she said with horrible 
severity. 

“Neither was I,” I declared in humble 
apology. “Didn’t you say ‘blankets’?” 


MY LAST CHANCE 


57 


“ Pamphlets .” 

“Oh!” 

There was a long pause. I glanced at Mrs. 
Hilary. Things had not fallen out as happily 
as they might, but I did not mean to give 
up yet. 

“I see you’re right,” I said, still humbly 
“To descend to such means as I had in my 
mind is — ” 

“To throw away our true weapons,” said 
she earnestly. (She sat down again — good 
sign.) 

“What we really need — ” I began. 

“Is a reform of the upper classes,” said she. 
“Let them give an example of duty, of self- 
denial, of frugality.” 

I was not to be caught out again. 

“Just what I always say,” I observed im- 
pressively. 

“Let them put away their horse-racing, 
their betting, their luxurious living, their — ” 

“You’re right, Miss Milton,” said I. 

“Let them set an example of morality.” 

“They should,” I assented. 


58 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


Miss Milton smiled. 

“I thought we agreed really,” said she. 

“I’m sure we do,” cried I; and I winked 
with my “off” eye at Mrs Hilary as I sat 
down beside Miss Milton. 

“Now I heard of a man - the other day,” 
said she, “who’s nearly 40. He’s got an 
estate in the country. He never goes there, 
except for a few days’ shooting. He lives 
in town. He spends too much. He passes 
an absolutely vacant existence in a round 
of empty gayety. He has by no means a 
good reputation. He dangles about, wasting 
his time and his money. Is that the sort 
of example — ?” 

“He’s a traitor to his class,” said I warmly. 

“If you want him, you must look on a 
race-course, or at a tailor’s, or in some fash- 
ionable woman’s boudoir And his estate 
looks after itself. He’s too selfish to marry, 
too idle to work, too silly to think ” 

I began to be sorry for this man, in spite 
of his peccadilloes. 

“I wonder if I’ve met him,” said I. “I’m 


MY LAST CHANCE 


59 


occasionally in town, when I can get time to 
lun up. What’s his name?” 

“I don’t think I heard — or I’ve forgotten. 
But he’s got the place next to a friend of 
mine in the country, and she told me all 
about him. She’s exactly the opposite sort 
of person — or she wouldn’t be my friend.” 

“I should think not, Miss Milton,” said I 
admiringly. 

“Oh, I should like to meet that man, and 
tell him what I think of him!” said she. 
“Such men as he is do more harm than a 
dozen agitators. So contemptible, too!” 

“It’s revolting to think of,” said I. 

“I’m so glad you — ” began Miss Milton, 
quite confidentially; I pulled my chair a trifle 
closer, and cast an apparently careless glance 
towards Mrs. Hilary. Suddenly I heard a 
voice behind me. 

“Eh, what? Upon my honor it is! Why, 
Carter, my boy, how are you? Eh, what? 
Miss Milton, too, I declare! Well, now, 
what a pity Annie didn’t come!” 

I disagreed. I hate Annie. But I was 


CO 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


very glad to see my friend and neighbor, 
Robert Dinnerly. He’s a sensible man — his 
wife’s a little prig. 

“Oh, Mr. Dinnerly,” cried Miss Milton, 
“how funny that you should come just now! 

I was just trying to remember the name of a 
man Mrs. Dinnerly told me about. I was 
telling Mr. Carter about him. You know 
him.” 

“Well, Miss Milton, perhaps I do. De- 
scribe him.” 

“I don’t believe Annie ever told me his 
name, but she was talking about him at our 
house yesterday.” 

“But I wasn’t there, Miss Milton.” 

“No,” said Miss Milton, “but he’s got the 
next place to yours in the country.” 

I positively leaped from my seat. 

“Why, good gracious, Carter himself, you 
mean!” cried Dinnerly, laughing. “Well, that 
is a good ’un — ha-ha-ha!” 

She turned a stony glare on me. 

“Do you live next to Mr. Dinnerly in the 
country?” she asked. 


MY LAST CHANCE 


Cl 


I would have denied it if Dinnerly had not 
been there. As it was I blew my nose. 

“I wonder,” said Miss Milton, “what has 
become of Aunt Emily.” 

“Miss Milton,” said I, “by a happy chance 
you have enjoyed a luxury. You have told 
the man what you think of him.” 

“Yes,” said she; “and I have only to add 
that he is also a hypocrite.” 

Pleasant, wasn’t it? Yet Mrs. Hilary says 
it was my fault. That’s a woman all over! 


VII 

Ube Xtttle Mretcb 


Seeing that little Johnny Tompkins was 
safely out of the country, under injunctions to 
make a new man of himself, and to keep that 
new man, when made, at the Antipodes, I 
could not see anything indiscreet in touching 
on the matter in the course of conversation 
with Mrs. Hilary Musgrave. In point of fact, 
I was curious to find out what she knew, and, 
supposing she knew, what she thought. So 
I mentioned little Johnny Tompkins. 

“Oh, the little wretch!” cried Mrs. Hilary. 
“You know he came here two or three times? 
Anybody can impose on Hilary.” 

“Happy woman! I — I mean unhappy man, 
Mrs. Hilary.” 

“And how much was it he stole?” 

“Hard on a thousand,” said I. “For a 
62 


THE LITTLE IV RETCH 


63 


time, you know, he was quite a man of 
fashion. ” 

“Oh, I know. He came here in his own 
hansom, perfectly dressed, and — ” 

“Behaved all right, didn’t he?” 

“Yes. Of course there was a something.” 

“Or you wouldn’t have been deceived!” 
said I, with a smile. 

“I wasn’t deceived,” said Mrs. Hilary, an 
admirable flush appearing on her cheeks. 

“That is to say, Hilary wouldn’t.” 

“Oh, Hilary! Why didn’t his employers 
prosecute him, Mr. Carter?” 

“In the first place, he had that inestimable 
advantage in a career of dishonesty— respect- 
able relations.” 

“Well, but still—” 

“His widowed mother was a trump, you 
know.” 

“Do you mean a good woman?” 

“Doubtless she was; but I mean a good 
card. However, there was another reason.” 

“I can’t see any,” declared Mrs. Hilary. 

“I’m going to surprise you,” said I. “Hilary 
interceded for him.” 


64 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Hilary ?” 

“You didn’t know it? I thought not. Well, 
he did.” 

“Why, he always pretended to want him 
to be convicted.” 

“Cunning Hilary!” said I. 

“He used to speak most strongly against 
him.” 

“That was his guile,” said I. 

“Oh, but why in the world — ?” she began; 
then she paused, and went on again: “It 
was nothing to do with Hilary.” 

“Hilary went with me to see him, you 
know, while they had him under lock and 
key at the firm’s offices.” 

“Did he? I never heard that.” 

“And he was much impressed with his 
bearing.” 

“Well, I suppose, Mr. Carter, that if he 
was really penitent — ” 

“Never saw a man less penitent,” I inter- 
rupted. “He gloried in his crime; if I re- 
member his exact expression, it was that the 
jam was jolly well worth the powder, and if 


THE LITTLE WRETCH 


65 


they liked to send him to chokee they could 
and be — and suffer accordingly, you know.” 

“And after that, Hilary — !” 

“Oh, anybody can impose on Hilary, you 
know. Hilary only asked what ‘the jam’ 
was.” 

“It’s a horrid expression, but I suppose it 
meant acting the part of a gentleman, didn’t 
it?” 

“Not entirely. According to what he told 
Hilary, Johnny was in love.” 

“Oh, and he stole for some wretched — ?” 

“Now, do be careful What do you know 
about the lady?” 

“The lady! I can imagine Johnny Tomp- 
kins’s ideal!” 

“So can I, if you come to that.” 

“And she must have known his money 
wasn’t his own.” 

“Why must she?” I asked. “According 
to what he told Hilary, she didn’t.” 

“I don’t believe it,” said Mrs. Hilary, with 
decision. 

“Hilary believed it!” 


60 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Oh, Hilary.” 

“But then, Hilary knew the girl.” 

“Hilary knew — ! You mean to say Hil- 
ary knew — ?” 

“No one better,” said I composedly. 

Mrs. Hilary rose to her feet. “Who was the 
creature?” she asked sharply. 

“Come,” I expostulated, “how would you 
like it if your young man had taken to theft 
and — ” 

“Oh, nonsense. Tell me her name, please, 
Mr. Carter.” 

“Johnny told Hilary that just to see her 
and talk to her and sit by her was ‘worth all 
the money’ — but, then, to be sure, it was 
somebody else’s money — and that he’d do it 
again to get what he had got over again. 
Then, I’m sorry to say, he swore.” 

“And Hilary believed that stuff?” 

“Hilary agreed with him,” said I. “Hilary, 
you see, knows the lady.” 

“What’s her name, Mr. Carter?” 

“Didn’t you notice his attentions to any 
one?” 


THE LITTLE WRETCH 


67 


“I notice! You don’t mean that I’ve seen 
her?” 

“Certainly you have.” 

“Was she ever here?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Hilary. Hilary takes care of 
that.” 

“I shall be angry in a minute, Mr. Carter. 
Oh, I’ll have this out of Hilary!” 

“I should.” 

“Who was she?” 

“According to what he told Hilary, she was 
the most fascinating woman in the world. 
Hilary thought so, too.” 

Mrs. Hilary began to walk up and down. 

“Oh, so Hilary helped to let him go, be- 
cause they both — ?” 

“Precisely,” said I. 

“And you dare to come and tell me?” 

“Well, I thought you ought to know,” said 
I. “Hilary’s just as mad about her as Johnny 
— in fact, he said he’d be hanged if he 
wouldn’t have done the same himself.” 

I have once seen Madame Ristori play 
Lady Macbeth. Her performance was re- 


G8 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


called to me by the tones in which Mrs. Hil- 
ary asked: 

“Who is this woman, if you please, Mr 
Carter?” 

“So Hilary got him off — gave him fifty 
pounds too.” 

“Glad to get him away, perhaps,” she burst 
out, in angry scorn. 

“Who knows?” said I. “Perhaps.” 

“Her name?” demanded Lady Macbeth — I 
mean Mrs. Hilary — again. 

“I shan’t tell you, unless you promise to 
say nothing to Hilary.” 

“To say nothing! Well, really — ” 

“Oh, all right!” and I took up my hat. 

“But I can watch them, can't I?” 

“As much as you like.” 

“Won’t you tell me?” 

“If you promise.” 

“Well, then, I promise.” 

“Look in the glass.” 

“What for?” 

“To see your face, to be sure.” 

She started, blushed red, and moved a step 
towards me. 


THE LITTLE WRETCH 


G9 


“You don’t mean — ?” she cried. 

“Thou art the woman,” said I. 

“Oh, but he never said a word — ” 

“Johnny had his code,” said I. “And in 
some ways it was better than some people’s — 
in some, alas! worse.” 

“And Hilary?” 

“Really you know better than I do whether 
I’ve told the truth about Hilary.” 

A pause ensued. Then Mrs Hilary made 
three short remarks, which I give in their or- 
der: 

(1) “The little wretch!” 

(2) “Dear old Hilary!” 

(3) “Poor little man!” 

I took my hat. I knew that Hilary was 
due from the City in a few minutes. Mrs. 
Hilary sat down by the fire. 

“How dare you torment me so ?”she asked, 
but not in the least like Lady Macbeth. 

“I must have my little amusements,” said I. 

“What an audacious little creature!” said 
Mrs. Hilary. “Fancy his daring! — Aren’t you 
astounded?” 


70 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Oh, yes, I am. But Hilary, you see — ” 

“It’s nearly his time,” said Mrs Hilary. 

I buttoned my left glove and held out my 
right hand. 

“I’ve a good mind not to shake hands with 
you,” said she. “Wasn’t it absurd of Hilary?” 

“Horribly.” 

“He ought to have been all the more 
angry.” 

“Of course he ought.” 

“The presumption of it!” And Mrs. Hilary 
smiled. I also smiled. 

“That poor old mother of his,” reflected 
Mrs. Hilary. “Where did you say she lived?” 

“Hilary knows the address,” said I. 

“Silly little wretch!” mused Mrs. Hilary, 
still smiling. 

“Good-bye,” said I. 

“Good-bye,” said Mrs. Hilary. 

I turned toward the door and had laid my 
hand on the knob, when Mrs. Hilary called 
softly: 

“Mr. Carter.” 

“Yes,” said I, turning. 


THE LITTLE WRETCH 


71 


“Do you know where the little wretch has 
gone?” 

“Oh, yes,” said I. 

“I — I suppose you don’t ever write to 
him?” 

“Dear me, no,” said I. 

-“But you — could?” suggested Mrs. Hilary. 

“Of course,” said I. 

She jumped up and ran towards me. Her 
purse was in one hand, and a bit of paper 
fluttered in the other. 

“Send him that — don’t tell him,”she whis- 
pered, and her voice had a little catch in it. 
“Poor little wretch!” said she. 

As for me, I smiled cynically — quite 
cynically, you know; for it was very absurd. 

“Please go,” said Mrs. Hilary. 

And I went. 

Supposing it had been another woman! 
Well, I wonder! 


VIII 


Bn Expensive privilege 

A rather uncomfortable thing happened the 
other day which threatened a schism in my 
acquaintance and put me in a decidedly awk- 
ward position. It was no other than this: 
Mrs. Hilary Musgrave had definitely informed 
me that she did not approve of Lady Mickle- 
ham. The attitude is, no doubt, a conceiv- 
able one, but I was surprised that a woman 
of Mrs. Hilary’s large sympathies should 
adopt it. Besides, Mrs. Hilary is quite good- 
looking herself. 

The history of the affair is much as follows: 
I called on Mrs. Hilary to see whether I could 
do anything, and she told me all about it. It 
appears that Mrs. Hilary had a bad cold and 
a cousin up from the country about the same 
time (she was justly aggrieved at the double 
event), and, being unable to go to the Duchess 
72 


AN EXPENSIVE PRIVILEGE 


73 


of Dexminster’s “squash,” she asked Dolly 
Mickleham to chaperon little Miss Phyllis. 
Little Miss Phyllis, of course, knew no one 
there — the Duchess least of all — (but then 
very few of us — yes, I was there — knew the 
Duchess, and the Duchess didn’t know any of 
us; I saw her shake hands with a waiter my- 
self, just to be on the safe side), and an hour 
after the party began she was discovered 
wandering about in a most desolate condition. 
Dolly had told her that she would be in a cer- 
tain place; and when Miss Phyllis came Dolly 
was . not there. The poor little lady wandered 
about for another hour, looking so lost 
that one was inclined to send for a policeman; 
and then she sat down on a seat by the wall, 
and, in desperation, asked her next-door 
neighbor if he knew Lady Mickleham by 
sight, and had he seen her lately? The next- 
door neighbor, by way of reply, called out to 
a quiet elderly gentleman who was sidling 
unobtrusively about, “Duke, are there any 
particularly snug corners in your house?” The 
Duke stopped, searched his memory, and said 


74 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


that at the end of the Red Corridor there 
was a passage, and that a few yards down the 
passage, if you turned very suddenly to the 
right, you would come on a little nook under 
the stairs. The little nook just held a settee, 
and the settee (the Duke thought) might just 
hold two people. The next-door neighbor 
thanked the Duke, and observed to Miss 
Phyllis— 

“It will give me great pleasure to take you 
to Lady Mickleham.” So they went, it be- 
ing then, according to Miss Phyllis’s sworn 
statement precisely two hours and five minutes 
since Dolly had disappeared; and, pursuing 
the route indicated by the Duke, they found 
Lady Mickleham. And Lady Mickleham ex- 
claimed, “Good gracious, my dear, I’d quite 
forgotten you! Have you had an ice? Do 
take her to have an ice, Sir John,” (Sir John 
Berry was the next-door neighbor.) And with 
that Lady Mickleham is said to have resumed 
her conversation. 

“Did you ever hear anything more atro- 
cious?” concluded Mrs. Hilary. “I really 


AN EXPENSIVE PRIVILEGE 75 

cannot think what Lord Mickleham is 
doing.” 

“You surely mean, what Lady Mickle- 
ham — ?” 

“No, I don’t,” said Mrs. Hilary, with ex- 
traordinary decision. “Anything might have 
happened to that poor child.” 

“Oh, there were not many of the aristoc- 
racy present,” said I soothingly. 

“But it’s not that so much as the thing 
itself. She’s the most disgraceful flirt in 
London.” 

“How do you know she was flirting?” I in- 
quired with a smile. 

“How do I know?” echoed Mrs. Hilary. 

“It is a very hasty conclusion,” I persisted. 
“Sometimes I stay talking with you for an 
hour or more. Are you, therefore, flirting 
with me?” 

“With you!' 1 exclaimed Mrs Hilary, with a 
little laugh. 

“Absurd as the supposition is,” I re- 
marked, “it yet serves to point the argument. 
Lady Mickleham might have been talking with 


76 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


a friend, just in the quiet, rational way in 
which we are talking now.” 

“I don’t think that’s likely,” said Mrs Hil- 
ary; and — well, I do not like to say that she 
sniffed — it would convey too strong an idea, 
but she did make an odd little sound some- 
thing like a much etherealized sniff. 

I smiled again, and more broadly. I was 
enjoying beforehand the little victory which 
I was to enjoy over Mrs Hilary. “Yet it hap- 
pens to be true,” said I. 

Mrs. Hilary was magnificently contemptu- 
ous. 

“Lord Mickleham told you so, I suppose?” 
she asked. “And I suppose Lady Mickleham 
told him — poor man!” 

“Why do you call him ‘poor man’?” 

“Oh, never mind. Did he tell you?” 

“Certainly not. The fact is, Mrs. Hilary 
— and really, you must excuse me for having 
kept you in the dark a little — it amused me 
so much to hear your suspicions.” 

Mrs. Hilary rose to her feet. 

“Well, what are you going to say?” she 
asked. 


AN EXPENSIVE PRIVILEGE 


77 


I laughed, as I answered: “Why, I was 

the man with Lady Mickleham when your 
friend and Berry inter — when they arrived, 
you know.” 

Well, I should have thought — I should still 
think — that she would have been pleased — 
relieved, you know, to find her uncharitable 
opinion erroneous, and pleased to have it 
altered on the best authority. I’m sure that 
is how I should have felt. It was not, how- 
ever, how Mrs. Hilary felt. 

“I am deeply pained,” she observed after a 
long pause; and then she held out her hand. 

“I was sure you’d forgive my little decep- 
tion,” said I, grasping it. I thought still that 
she meant to bury all unkindness. 

“I should never have thought it of you,” 
she went on. 

“I didn’t know your friend was there at 
all,” I pleaded; for by now I was alarmed. 

“Oh, please don’t shuffle like that,” said 
Mrs. Hilary. 

She continued to stand, and I rose to my 
feet. Mrs. Hilary held out her hand again. 

“Do you mean that I’m to go?” said I. 


78 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“I hope we shall see you again some day,” 
said Mrs. Hilary; the tone suggested that 
she was looking forward to some future exist- 
ence, when my earthly sins should have been 
sufficiently purged. It reminded me for the 
moment of King Arthur and Queen Guine- 
vere. 

“But I protest,” I began, “that my only ob- 
ject in telling you was to show you how ab- 
surd — ” 

“Is it any good talking about it now?” 
asked Mrs. Hilary. A discussion might pos- 
sibly be fruitful in the dim futurity before 
mentioned— but not now — that was what she 
seemed to say. 

“Lady Mickleham and I, on the occasion 
in question — ” I began, with dignity. 

“Pray spare me,” quoth Mrs. Hilary, with 
much greater dignity. 

I took my hat. 

“Shall you be at home as usual on Thurs- 
day?” 1 asked 

“I have a great many people coming al- 
ready,” she remarked. 


AN EXPENSIVE PRIVILEGE 


79 


“I can take a hint,” said I. 

“I wish you’d take warning,” said Mrs. Hil- 
ary. 

“I will take my leave,” said I — and I 
did, leaving Mrs. Hilary in a tragic attitude 
in the middle of the room. Never again 
shall I go out of my way to lull Mrs. 
Hilary’s suspicions. 

A day or two after this very trying inter- 
view, Lady Mickleham’s victoria happened 
to stop opposite where I was seated in the 
park. I went to pay my respects. 

“Do you mean to leave me nothing in the 
world,” I asked, just by way of introducing 
the subject of Mrs. Hilary. “One of my best 
friends has turned me out of her house on 
your account.” 

“Oh, do tell me,” said Dolly, dimpling all 
over her face. 

So I told her; I made the story as long as 
I could for reasons connected with the dim- 
ples. 

“What fun!” exclaimed Dolly. “I told 
you at the time that a young unmarried per- 
son like you ought to be more careful. ” 


80 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“I am just debating,” I observed, “whether 
to sacrifice you ” 

“To sacrifice me, Mr. Carter?” 

“Of course, ”1 explained; “if I dropped you 
Mrs. Hilary would let me come again.” 

“How charming that would be!” cried 
Dolly. “You would enjoy her nice serious 
conversation — all about Hilary!” 

“She is apt,” I conceded, “to touch on 
Hilary. But she is very picturesque.” 

“Oh, yes, she’s handsome,” said Dolly. 

There was a pause. Then Dolly said, 
“Well?” 

“Well?” said I in return. 

“It is good-bye?” asked Dolly, drawing 
down the corners of her mouth. 

“It comes to this,” I remarked. “Suppos- 
ing I forgive you — ” 

“As if it was my fault!” 

“And risk Mrs. Hilary’s wrath — did you 
speak ?” 

“No; I laughed, Mr. Carter.” 

“What shall I get out of it?” 

The sun was shining brightly; it shone on 


AN EXPENSIVE PRIVILEGE 


81 


Dolly; she had raised her parasol, but she 
blinked a little beneath it. She was smiling 
slightly still, and the dimple stuck to its post 
— like a sentinel, ready to rouse the rest from 
their brief repose. Dolly lay back in the 
victoria, nestling luxuriously against the soft 
cushions. She turned her eyes for a moment 
on me. 

“Why are you looking at me?” she asked. 

“Because,” said I, “there is nothing bet- 
ter to look at.” 

“Do you like doing it?” asked Dolly. 

“It is a privilege,” said I politely. 

“Well, then!” said Dolly. 

“But,” I ventured to observe, “it’s rather 
an expensive one.” 

“Then you mustn’t have it very often.” 

“And it is shared by so many people.” 

“Then,” said Dolly, smiling indulgently, 
“you must have it — a little oftener. Home, 
Roberts, please.” 

I am not yet allowed at Mrs. Hilary Mus- 
grave’s. 


IX 


B IDers Bull Bffair 

“To hear you talk,” remarked Mrs. Hilary 
Musgrave — and, if any one is surprised to 
find me at her house, I can only say that 
Hilary, when he asked me to take pot-luck, 
was quite ignorant of any ground of difference 
between his wife and myself, and that Mrs. 
Hilary could not very well eject me on my 
arrival in evening dress at ten minutes to 
eight— “to hear you talk one would think that 
there was no such thing as real love.” 

She paused. I smiled. 

“Now,” she continued, turning a fine, but 
scornful eye upon me, “ I have never cared 
for any man in the world except my husband.” 

I smiled again. Poor Hilary looked very 
uncomfortable. With an apologetic air he 
began to stammer something about Parish 
82 


A VERY DULL AFFAIR 


83 


Councils. I was not to be diverted by any 
such manoeuvre. It was impossible that 
he could really wish to talk on that subject. 

“Would a person who had never eaten 
anything but beef make a boast of it?” I 
asked. 

Hilary grinned covertly. Mrs. Hilary 
pulled the lamp nearer, and took up her em- 
broidery. 

“Do you always work the same pattern?” 
said I. 

Hilary kicked me gently. Mrs. Hilary 
made no direct reply, but presently she be- 
gan to talk. 

“I was just about Phyllis’s age — (by the 
way, little Miss Phyllis was there) — when I 
first saw Hilary. You remember, Hilary? 
At Bournemouth?” 

“Oh — er — was it Bournemouth?” said Hil- 
ary, with much carelessness. 

“I was on the pier,” pursued Mrs. Hilary. 
“I had a red frock on, I remember, and one 
of those big hats they wore that year. 
Hilary wore — ” 


84 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Blue serge,” I interpolated, encourag- 
ingly. 

“Yes, blue serge,” said she fondly. “He 
had been yachting, and he was beautifully 
burnt. I was horribly burnt — wasn’t I, 
Hilary?” 

Hilary began to pat the dog. 

“Then we got to know one another.” 

“Stop a minute,” said I. “How did that 
happen?” Mrs. Hilary blushed. 

“Well, we were both always on the pier,” 
she explained. “And — and somehow Hilary 
got to know father, and — and father intro- 
duced him to me.” 

“I’m glad it was no worse,” said I. I was 
considering Miss Phyllis, who sat listening, 
open-eyed. 

“And then, you know, father wasn’t al- 
ways there; and once or twice we met on the 
cliff. Do you remember that morning, Hil- 
ary?” 

“What morning?” asked Hilary, patting 
the dog with immense assiduity. 

“Why, the morning I had my white serge 


A VERY DULL AFFAIR 


85 


on. I’d been bathing, and my hair was down 
to dry, and you said I looked like a mermaid.” 

“Do mermaids wear white serge?” I asked; 
but nobody took the least notice of me — quite 
properly. 

“And you told me such a lot about your- 
self; and then we found we were late for 
lunch.” 

“Yes,” said Hilary, suddenly forgeting the 
dog, “and your mother gave me an awful 
glance.” 

“Yes, and then you told me that you were 
very poor, but that you couldn’t help it; and 
you said you supposed I couldn’t possibly — ” 

“Well, I didn’t think — !” 

“And I said you were a silly old thing; 
and then — ” Mrs. Hilary stopped abruptly. 

“How lovely,” remarked little Miss Phyllis 
in a wistful voice. 

“And do you remember,” pursued Mrs. Hil- 
ary, laying down her embroidery and clasp- 
ing her hands on her knees, “the morning 
you went to see father?” 

“What a row there was!” said Hilary. 


86 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“And what an awful week it was after 
that! I was never so miserable in all my 
life. I cried till my eyes were quite red, and 
then I bathed them for an hour, and then I 
went to the pier, and you were there — and I 
mightn’t speak to you!” 

“I remember,” said Hilary, nodding gently. 

“And then, Hilary, father sent for me and 
told me it was no use; and I said I’d never 
marry any one else. And father said, ‘There, 
there, don’t cry. We’ll see what mother 
says. ’” 

“Your mother was a brick,” said Hilary, 
poking the fire. 

“And that night — they never told me any- 
thing about it, and I didn’t even change my 
frock, but came down, looking horrible, just 
as I was, in an old black rag — No, Hilary, 
don’t say it was pretty!” 

Hilary, unconvinced, shook his head. 

“And when I walked into the drawing-room 
there was nobody there but just you; and we 
neither of us said anything for ever so long. 
And then father and mother came in and — do 
you remember after dinner, Hilary?” 


A VERY DULL AFFAIR 


87 


“I remember,” said Hilary. 

There was a long pause. Mrs. Hilary was 
looking into the fire; little Miss Phyllis’s eyes 
were fixed, in rapt gaze, on the ceiling; Hil- 
ary was looking at his wife — I, thinking it 
safest, was regarding my own boots. 

At last Miss Phyllis broke the silence. 

“How perfectly lovely l” she said. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Hilary. “And we were 
married three months afterwards.” 

“Tenth of June,” said Hilary, reflectively. 

“And we had the most charming little 
rooms in the world ! Do you remember those 
first rooms, dear? So tiny!” 

“Not bad little rooms,” said Hilary. 

“How awfully lovely,” cried little Miss 
Phyllis. 

I felt that it was time to interfere. 

“And is that all?” I asked. 

“All? How do you mean?” said Mrs. Hilary, 
with a slight start. 

“Well, I mean, did nothing else happen? 
Weren’t there any complications? Weren’t 
there any more troubles, or any more oppo- 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


sition, or any misunderstandings, or any- 
thing?” 

“No,” said Mrs. Hilary. 

“You never quarreled, or broke it off?” 

“No.” 

“Nobody came between you?” 

“No. It all went just perfectly. Why, of 
course it did.” 

“Hilary’s people made themselves nasty, 
perhaps?” I suggested, with a ray of hope. 

“They fell in love with her on the spot,” 
said Hilary. 

Then I rose and stood with my back to the 
fire. 

“I do not know,” I observed, “what Miss 
Phyllis thinks about it — ” 

“I think it was just perfect, Mr. Carter.” 

“But for my part, I can only say that I 
never heard of such a dull affair in all my 
life.” 

“ Dull !” gasped Miss Phyllis 

“Dull!” murmured Mrs Hilary. 

“Dull!” chuckled Hilary 

“It was,” said I severely / 4 without a spark of 


A VERY DULL AFFAIR 


80 


interest from beginning to end. Such things 
happen by thousands. It’s commonplaceness 
itself. I had some hopes when your father 
assumed a firm attitude, but — ” 

“Mother was such a dear,”interrupted Mrs, 
Hilary. 

“Just so. She gave away the whole situ- 
ation. Then I did trust that Hilary would 
lose his place, or develop an old flame, or 
do something just a little interesting. ” 

“It was a perfect time,” said Mrs. Hilary. 

“I wonder why in the world you told me 
about it,” I pursued. 

“I don’t know why I did,” said Mrs. Hilary 
dreamily. 

“The only possible excuse for an engage- 
ment like that,” I observed, “is to be found 
in intense post-nuptial unhappiness.” 

Hilary rose, and advanced towards his 
wife. 

“Your embroidery’s falling on the floor,” 
said he. 

“Not a bit of it,” said I. 

“Yes, it is,” he persisted; and he picked it 


90 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


up and gave it to her. Miss Phyllis smiled 
delightedly. Hilary had squeezed his wife’s 
hand. 

“Then we don’t excuse it,” said he. 

I took out my watch I was not finding 
much entertainment. 

“Surely it’s quite early, old man?” said 
Hilary. 

“It’s nearly eleven. We’ve spent half-an- 
hour on the thing,” said I peevishly, holding 
out my hand to my hostess. 

“Oh, are you going? Good-night, Mr. Car- 
ter.” 

I turned to Miss Phyllis. 

“I hope you won’t think all love affairs 
are like that,” I said; but I saw her lips be- 
gin to shape into “lovely,” and I hastily left 
the room. 

Hilary came to help me on with my coat. 
He looked extremely apologetic, and very 
much ashamed of himself. 

“Awfully sorry, old chap,” said he, “that 
we bored you with our reminiscences. I 
know, of course, that they .can’t be very in- 


A VERY DULL AFFAIR 


91 


teresting to other people. Women are so 
confoundedly romantic.” 

“Don’t try that on with me,” said I, much 
disgusted. “You were just as bad yourself.” 

He laughed, as he lent against the door. 

“She did look ripping in that white frock,” 
he said, “with her hair — ” 

“Stop,” said I firmly. “She looked just like 
a lot of other girls.” 

“I’m hanged if she. did!” said Hilary. 

Then he glanced at me with a puzzled sort 
of expression. 

“I say, old man, weren’t you ever that way 
yourself?” he asked. 

I hailed a hansom cab. 

“Because, if you were, you know, you’d 
understand how a fellow remembers every — ” 

“Good-night,” said I. “At least I suppose 
you’re not coming to the club?” 

“Well, I think not,” said Hilary. “Ta-ta, 
old fellow. Sorry we bored you. Of course, 
if a man has never — ” 

“Never!” I groaned. “A score of times!” 

“Well, then, doesn’t it — ?” 


92 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“No,” said I. “It’s just that that makes 
stories like yours so infernally — ” 

“What?” asked Hilary; for I had paused 
to light a cigarette. 

“Uninteresting, ”said I, getting into my cab. 


IX 


Strang, but {True 

The other day my young cousin George 
lunched with me. He is a cheery youth, and 
a member of the University of Oxford. He 
refreshes me very much, and I believe that I 
have the pleasure of affording him some mat- 
ter for thought. On this occasion, however, 
he was extremely silent and depressed. I 
said little, but made an extremely good 
luncheon. Afterwards we proceeded to take 
a stroll in the Park. 

“Sam, old boy,” said George suddenly, “I’m 
the most miserable devil alive.” 

“I don’t know what else you expect at 
your age,” I observed, lighting a cigar. He 
walked on in silence for a few moments. 

“I say, Sam, old boy, when you were 
young, were you ever — ?” he paused, ar- 
93 


94 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


ranged his neckcloth (it was more like a bed- 
quilt— oh, the fashion, of course, I know 
that), and blushed a fine crimson. 

“Was I ever what, George?” I had the 
curiosity to ask. 

“Oh, well, hard hit, you know — a girl, 
you know.” 

“In love, you mean, George? No, I never 
was.” 

“Never?” 

“No. Are you?” 

“Yes. Hang it!” Then he looked at me 
with a puzzled air and continued: 

“I say, though, Sam, it’s awfully funny 
you shouldn’t have — don’t you know what it’s 
like, then?” 

“How should I?” I inquired apologetically. 
“What is it like, George?” 

George took my arm. 

“It’s just Hades,” he informed me confi- 
dentially. 

“Then,” I remarked, “I have no reason to 
regret — ” 

“Still, you know,” interrupted George, “it’s 
not half-bad.” 


STRANGE, BUT TRUE 


95 


“That appears to me to be a paradox,” I ob- 
served. 

“It’s precious hard to explain it to you if 
you’ve never felt it,” said George, in rather 
an injured tone. “But what I say is quite 
true.” 

“I shouldn’t think of contradicting you, 
my dear fellow,” I hastened to say. 

“Let’s sit down,” said he, “and watch the 
people driving. We may see somebody — 
somebody we know, you know, Sam.” 

“So we may,” said I, and we sat down. 

“A fellow,” pursued George, with knitted 
brows, “is all turned upside down, don’t you 
know?” 

“How very peculiar!” I exclaimed. 

“One moment he’s the happiest dog in the 
world, and the next — well, the next, it’s the 
deuce.” 

“But,” I objected, “not surely without 
good reason for such a change?” 

“Reason? Bosh! The least thing does it.” 

I flicked the ash from my cigar. 

“It may,” I remarked, “affect you in this 


96 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


extraordinary way, but surely it is not so 
with most people?” 

“Perhaps not,” George conceded. “Most 
people are cold-blooded asses.” 

“Very likely the explanation lies in that 
fact,” said I. 

“I didn’t mean you, old chap,” said George, 
with a penitence which showed that he had 
meant me. 

“Oh, all right, all right, ’’said I. 

“But when a man’s really far gone there’s 
nothing else in the world but it.” 

“That seems to me not to be a healthy 
condition,” said I. 

“Healthy? Oh, you old idiot, Sam! Who’s 
talking of health? Now, only last night I 
met her at a dance. I had five dances with 
her — talked to her half the evening, in fact. 
Well, you’d think that would last some time, 
wouldn’t you ?” 

“I should certainly have supposed so,” I 
assented. 

“So it would with most chaps, I dare say, 
but with me — confound it, I feel as if I hadn’t 
seen her for six months!” 


STRANGE , BUT TRUE 


97 


“But, my dear George, that’s surely rather 
aosurd? As you tell me, you spent a long 
while with the young person — ” 

“The — young— person! ” 

“You’ve not told me her name, you see.” 
“No, and I shan’t. I wonder if she’ll be 
at the Musgraves’ to-night!” 

“You’re sure,” said I soothingly, “to meet 
her somewhere in the course of the next few 
weeks.” 

George looked at me. Then he observed 
with a bitter laugh: 

“It’s pretty evident you've never had it. 
You’re as bad as these chaps who write 
books.” 

“Well, but surely they often describe with 
sufficient warmth and — er — color—” 

“Oh, I dare say; but it’s all wrong. At 
least, it’s not what I feel. Then look at the 
girls in books! All beasts /” 

George spoke with much vehemence; so 
that I was led to say: 

“The lady you are preoccupied with is, 

I suppose, handsome?” 


98 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


George turned swiftly round on me. 

“Look here, can you hold your tongue, 
Sam?” 

I nodded. 

“Then I’m hanged if I won’t point her out 
to you!” 

“That’s uncommon good of you, George,” 
said I. 

“Then you’ll see,” continued George. “But 
it’s not only her looks, you know, she’.s the 
most — ” 

He stopped. Looking round to see why, 

I observed that his face was red; he clutched 
his walking-stick tightly in his left hand; his 
right hand was trembling, as if it wanted to 
jump up to his hat, “Here she comes! Look, 
look !” he whispered. 

Directing my eyes towards the lines of car- 
riages which rolled past us, I observed a girl 
in a victoria; by her side sat a portly lady of 
middle age. The girl was decidedly like the 
lady; a description of the lady would not, I 
imagine, be interesting. The girl bli shed 
slightly and bowed. George and I lifted our 


STRANGE, BUT TRUE 


99 


hats. The victoria and its occupants were 
gone. George leant back with a sigh. After 
a moment, he said: 

“Well, that was her.” 

There was expectancy in his tone. 

“She has an extremely prepossessing ap- 
pearance,” I observed. 

“There isn’t,” said George, “a girl in Lon- 
don to touch her. Sam, old boy, I believe — 
I believe she likes me a bit ” 

“I’m sure she must, George,” said I; and 
indeed, I thought so. 

“The Governor’s infernally unreasonable,” 
said George, fretfully. 

“Oh, you’ve mentioned it to him ? ” 

“I sounded him. Oh, you may te sure he 
didn’t see what I was up to. I put it quite 
generally. He talked rot about getting on 
in the world. Who wants to get on?” 

“Who, indeed?” said I, “It is only chang- 
ing what you are for something no better.” 

“And about waiting till I know my own 
mind. Isn’t it enough to look at her?” 

“Ample, in my opinion,” said I. 

George rose to his feet. 


100 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“They’ve gone to a party; they won’t corre 
round again, ” said he. “We may as well go, 
mayn’t we?” 

I was very comfortable, so I said timidly: 

“We might see somebody else we know.” 

“Oh, somebody else be hanged! Who 
wants to see ’em?” 

“I’m sure I don’t,” said I hastily, as I rose 
from my armchair, which was at once 
snapped up. 

We were about to return to the club, when 
I observed Lady Mickleham’s barouche stand- 
ing under the trees. I invited George to 
come and be introduced. 

He displayed great indifference. 

“She gives a good many parties,” said I; 
“and perhaps — ” 

“By Jove! yes. I may as well,” said 
George. “Glad you had the sense to think of 
that, old man.” 

So I took him up to Dolly and presented 
him. Dolly was very gracious: George is 
an eminently presentable boy. We fell into 
conversation. 


STRANGE, BUT TRUE 


101 


“My cousin, Lady Mickleham,” said I, “has 
been telling me — ” 

“Oh, shut up, Sam !” said George, not, how- 
ever, appearing very angry. 

“About a subject on which you can assist 
him more than I can, inasmuch as you are 
married. He is in love.” 

Dally glanced at George. 

“Oh, what fan!” said she. 

“Fun !” cried George. 

“I mean, how awfully interesting,” said 
Dolly, suddenly transforming her expression. 

“And he wanted to be introduced to you 
because you might ask her and him to — ” 

George became red, and began to stammer 
an apology. 

“Oh, I don’t believe him,”said Dolly kind- 
ly; “he always makes people uncomfortable 
if he can. What were you telling him, Mr. 
George?” 

“It’s no use telling him anything. He 
can’t understand,” said George. 

“Is she very — ?” asked Dolly, fixing doubt- 
fully grave eyes on my young cousin. 


102 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Sam’s seen her,” said he, in an access of 
shyness. 

Dolly turned to me for an opinion, and I 
gave one: 

“She is just,” said I, “as charming as he 
thinks her.” 

Dolly leant over to my cousin, and whis- 
peied, “Tell me her name.” And he whis- 
pered something back to Dolly. 

“It’s awfully kind of you, Lady Mickle- 
ham,” he said. 

“I am a kind old thing,” said Dolly, all 
over dimples. “I can easily get to know 
them.” 

“Oh, you really are awfully kind, Lady 
Mickleham.” 

Doll) smiled upon him, waved her hand 
to me, and drove off, crying — 

“Do try to make Mr. Carter understand!” 

We were left alone. George wore a medi- 
tative smile. Presently he roused himself to 
say: 

“She’s really a very kind woman. She’s 
so sympathetic. She’s not like you. I ex- 
pect she felt it once herself, you know.” 


STRANGE , BUT TRUE 


103 


“One can never tell,” said I carelessly. 
“Perhaps she did — once.” 

George fell to brooding again. I thought 
I would try an experiment. 

“Not altogether bad-looking, either, is 
she?” I asked, lighting a cigarette. 

George started. 

“What? Oh, well, I don’t know. I sup- 
pose some people might think so.” 

He paused, and added, with a bashful, 
knowing smile — 

“You can hardly expect me to go into rap 
tures about her, can you, old man?” 

I turned my head away, but he caught me. 

“Oh, you needn’t smile in that infernally 
patronizing way,” he cried angrily. 

“Upon my word, George,” said I, “I don’t 
know that I need.” 


XI 


Ube IDerp Xatest Ubtna 

“It’s the very latest thing,” said Lady 
Mickleham, standing by the table in the smok- 
ing-room, and holding an album in her hand. 

“I wish it had been a little later still,” said 
I, for I felt embarrassed. 

“You promise, on your honor, to be abso- 
lutely sincere, you know, and then you write 
what you think cf me. See what a lot of 
opinions I’ve got already,” and she held up 
the thick album. 

“It would be extremely interesting to read 
them,” I observed. 

“Oh! but they’re quite confidential,” said 
Dolly. “That’s part of the fun.” 

“I don’t appreciate that part,” said I. 

“Perhaps you will when you’ve written 
yours,” suggested Lady Mickleham. 

101 


THE VERY LATEST THING 


105 


“Meanwhile, mayn’t I see the Dowager’s ?” 

“Well, I’ll show you a little bit of the Dow- 
ager’s. Look here: ‘Our dear Dorothea is 
still perhaps just a thought wanting in serious- 
ness, but the sense of her position is having a 
sobering effect.” 

“I hope not,” I exclaimed apprehensively. 
“Whose is this?” 

“Archie’s.” 

“May I see a bit — ?” 

“Not a bit,” said Dolly. “Archie’s is — is 
rather foolish, Mr. Carter.” 

“So I suppose,” said I. 

“Dear boy!” said Dolly reflectively. 

“I hate sentiment,” said I. “Here’s a long 
one. Who wrote — ?” 

“Oh, you mustn’t look at that — not at that, 
above all!” 

“Why above all?” I asked with some 
severity. 

Dolly smiled; then she observed in a sooth- 
ing tone: 

“Perhaps it won’t be ‘above all’ when 
you’ve written yours, Mr. Carter.” 


100 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“By the way,” I said carelessly, “I suppose 
Archie sees all of them?” 

“He has never asked to see them,” an- 
swered Lady Mickleham. 

The reply seemed satisfactory; of course, 
Archie had only to ask. I took a clean quill 
and prepared to write. 

“You promise to be sincere, you know,” 
Dolly reminded me. 

I laid down my pen. 

“Impossible!” said I firmly. 

“O, but why, Mr. Carter?” 

“There w^ould be an end of our friendship.” 

“Do you think as badly of me as all that?” 
asked Dolly with a rueful air. 

I leant back in ~my chair and looked at 
Dolly. She looked at me. She smiled. I 
may have smiled. 

“Yes,” said I. 

“Then you needn’t write it quite all down,” 
said Dolly. 

“I am obliged,” said I, taking up my pen. 

“You mustn’t say what isn’t true, but you 
needn’t say everything that is— that might 
be — true,” explained Dolly. 


THE VERY LATEST THING 


107 


This, again, seemed satisfactory. I began 
to write, Dolly sitting opposite me with her 
elbows on the table, and watching me. 

After ten minutes’ steady work, which in- 
cluded several pauses for reflection, I threw 
down the pen, leant back in my chair, and 
lit a cigarette. 

“Now read it,” said Dolly, her chin in her 
hands and her eyes fixed on me. 

“It is, on the whole,” I observed, “com- 
plimentary.” 

“No, really?” said Dolly. “Yet you prom- 
ised to be sincere.” 

“You would not have had me disagreeable ?” 
I asked. 

“That’s a different thing,” said Dolly. 
“Read it, please.” 

“Lady Mickleham,” I read, “is usually ac- 
counted a person of considerable attrac- 
tions. She is widely popular, and more than 
one woman has been known to like her.” 

“I don’t quite understand that,” interrupt- 
ed Dolly. 

“It is surely simple,” said I; and I read on 


108 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


without delay. “She is kind even to her hus- 
band, and takes the utmost pains to conceal 
from her mother-in-law anything calculated 
to distress that lady.” 

“I suppose you mean that to be nice?” said 
Dolly. 

“Of course,” I answered; and I proceeded: 
“She never gives pain to any one, except 
with the object of giving pleasure to some- 
body else, and her kindness is no less widely 
diffused than it is hearty and sincere.” 

“That really is nice,” said Dolly, smiling. 

“Thank you,” said I, smiling also. “She 
is very charitable: she takes a pleasure in 
encouraging the shy and bashful — ” 

“How do you know that?” asked Dolly. 

“While,” I pursued, “suffering without im- 
patience a considerable amount of self-assur- 
ance.” 

“You can’t know whether I’m patient or 
not,” remarked Dolly. “I’m polite.” 

“She thinks,” I read on, “no evil of the 
most attractive of women, and has a smile 
for the most unattractive of men.” 


THE VERY LATEST THING 109 

“You put that very nicely,” said Dolly, 
nodding. 

“The former may constantly be seen in her 
house — and the latter at least as often as 
many people would think desirable.” (Here 
for some reason Dolly laughed.) “Her in- 
tellectual powers are not despicable.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Carter.” 

“She can say what she means on the oc- 
casions on which she wishes to do so, and she 
is, at other times, equally capable of meaning 
much more than she would be likely to say.” 

“How do you mean that, Mr. Carter, 
please ?” 

“It explains itself,” said I, and I proceeded: 
“The fact of her receiving a remark with dis- 
approbation does not necessarily mean that 
it causes her displeasure, nor must it be as- 
sumed that she did not expect a visitor merely 
on the ground that she greets him with sur- 
prise.” 

Here I observed Lady Mickleham looking 
at me rather suspiciously. 

“I don’t think that’s quite nice of you, Mr. 
Carter,” she said pathetically. 


110 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUE 


“Lady Mickleham is, in short, ” I went on, 
coming to my peroration, “equally deserving 
of esteem and affection — ” 

“Esteem and affection! That sounds just 
right,” said Dolly approvingly. 

“And these who have been admitted to 
the enjoyment of her friendship are unani- 
mous in discouraging all others from seeking 
a similar privilege.” 

“I beg your pardon?” cried Lady Mickle- 
ham 

“Are unanimous,” I repeated, slowly and 
distinctly, “in discouraging all others from 
seeking a similar privilege.” 

Dolly looked at me, with her brow slightly 
puckered, I leant back, puffing at my cigar- 
ette. Presently — for there was quite a long 
pause — Dolly’s lips curved. 

“My mental pewers are not despicable,” 
she observed. 

“I have said so,” said I. 

“I think I see,” she remarked. 

“Is there anything wrong?” I asked anx- 
iously. 


THE VERY LATES T THING 


111 


“N-no,” said Dolly, “not exactly wrong. 
In fact, I rather think I like that last bit 
best. Still, don’t you think — ?” 

She rose, came round the table, took up 
the pen, and put it back in my hand. 

“What’s this for?” I asked. 

“To correct the mistake,” said Dolly. 

“Do you really think so?” said I. 

“I’m afraid so,” said Dolly. 

I took the pen’and made a certain alter- 
ation. 

Dolly took up the album. 

“‘Are unanimous,’” she read, “‘in encour- 
aging all others to seek a similar privilege.’ 
Yes ; you meant that, you know, Mr. Carter.” 

“I suppose I must have,” said I rather 
sulkily. 

“The other was nonsense,” urged Dolly. 

“Oh, utter nonsense,” said I. 

“And you had to write the truth!” 

“Yes, I had to write some of it.” 

“And nonsense can’t be the truth, can it, 
Mr. Carter?” 

“Of course it can’t, Lady Mickleham.” 


1 1 2 


THE DOLLY DIALOG ULS 


“Where are you going, Mr. Carter?” she 
asked; for I rose from my chair. 

“To have a quiet smoke,” said I. 

“Alone?” asked Dolly. 

“Yes, alone,” said I. 

I walked towards the door. Dolly stood 
by the table fingering the album. I had al- 
most reached the door; then I happened to 
look round. 

“Mr. Carter!” said Dolly, as though a new 
idea had struck her. 

“What is it, Lady Mickleham?” 

“Well, ycu know, Mr. Carter, I — I shall try 
to forget that mistake of yours.” 

“You’re very kind, Lady Mickleham.” 

“But,” said Dolly, with a troubled smile, 
“I — I’m quite afraid I shan’t succeed, Mr. 
Carter.” 

After all, the smoking-room is meant for 
smoking. 


XII 


Bn XUncounteb IDour 

We were standing, Lady Mickleham and I, 
at a door which led from the morning-room 
to the terrace at The Towers. I was on a 
visit to that historic pile (by Vanbrugh — out 
of the money accumulated by the third Earl 
— Paymaster to the Forces — temp. Queen 
Anne). The morning-room is a large room. 
Archie was somewhere in it. Lady Mickle- 
ham held a jar containing pate de foie gras\ 
from time to time she dug a piece out with a 
fork and flung the morsel to a big retriever 
which was sitting on the terrace. The morn- 
ing was fine, but cloudy. Lady Mickleham 
wore blue. The dog swallowed the pate with 
greediness. 

“It’s so bad for him,” sighed she; “but the 
dear likes it so much.” 

113 


114 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“How human the creatures are!” said I. 

“Do you know,” pursued Lady Mrc kleham, 
“that the Dowager says I’m extravagant. 
She thinks dogs ought not to be fed on pate 
de foie gras.” 

“Your extravagance,” I observed, “is prob- 
ably due to your having been brought up on 
a moderate income. I have felt the effect 
myself.” 

“Of course,” said Dolly, “we are hit by 
the agricultural depression.” 

“The Carters also,” I murmured, “are 
landed gentry.” 

“After all, I don’t see much point in econ- 
omy, do you, Mr. Carter?” 

“Economy,” I remarked, putting my hands 
in my pockets, “is going without something 
you do want in case jvu should, some day, 
want something which you probably won’t 
want.” 

“Isn’t that clever?” asked Dolly in an ap- 
prehensive tone. 

“Oh, dear no,” I answered reassuringly. 
“Anybody can do that — if they care to try, 
you know.” 


AN UNCOUNTED HOUR 


115 


Dolly tossed a piece of pate to the retriever. 

“I have made a discovery lately,” I ob- 
served. 

“What are you two talking about?” called 
Archie. 

“You’re not meant to hear,” said Dolly, 
without turning round. 

“Yet, if it’s a discovery, he ought to hear 
it.” 

“He’s made a good many lately,” said 
Dolly. 

She dug out the last bit of pvte y flung it to 
the dog, and handed the empty pot to me. 

“Don’t be so allegorical,” I implored. 
“Besides, its really not just to Archie. No 
doubt the dog is a nice one, but — ” 

“How foolish you are this morning! 
What’s the discovery?” 

“An entirely surprising one.” 

“Oh, but let me hear! It’s nothing about 
Archie, is it?” 

“No. I’ve told you all Archie's sins.” 

“Nor Mrs. Hilary? I wish it was Mrs. Hil- 
ary!” 


116 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Shall we walk on the terrace?” I sug- 
gested. 

“Oh, yes, let’s,” said Dolly, stepping out, 
and putting on a broad-brimmed, low-crowned 
hat, which she caught up from a chair hard 
by. “It isn’t Mrs. Hilary?” she added, sit- 
ting down on a garden seat. 

“No,” said I, leaning on a sundial which 
stood by the seat. 

“Well, what is it ?” 

“It is simple,” said I, “and serious. It is 
not, therefore, like you, Lady Mickleham.” 

“It’s like Mrs. Hilary,” said Dolly. 

' “No; because it isn’t pleasant. By the 
way, are you jealous of Mrs. Hilary?” 

Dolly said nothing at all. She took off 
her hat, roughened her hair a little, and as- 
sumed an effective pose. Still, it is a fact 
(for what it is worth) that she doesn’t care 
much about Mrs. Hilary. 

“The discovery,” I continued, “is that I’m 
growing middle-aged.” 

“You are middle-aged,” said Dolly, spear- 
ing her hat with its long pin. 


AN UNCOUNTED HOUR 


11 ? 


I was, very naturally, nettled at this. 

“So will ycu be soon,” I retorted. 

“Not soon,” said Dolly. 

“Some day,” I insisted. 

After a pause of about half a minute, Dolly 
said, “I suppose so.” 

“You will become,” I pursued, idly draw- 
ing patterns with my finger on the sundial, 
“wrinkled, rough, fat — and, perhaps, good.” 

“You’re very disagreeable to-day,” said 
Dolly. 

She rose and stood by me. 

“What do the mottoes mean?” she asked. 

There were two; I will not say they con- 
tradicted one another, but they looked at 
life from different points of view. 

“ Pereunt et imputantur ,” I read. 

“Well, what’s that, Mr. Carter?” 

“A trite, but offensive, assertion,” said I, 
lighting a cigarette. 

“But what does it mean?” she asked, a 
pucker on her forehead. 

“What does it matter?” said I. “Let’s try 
the other.” 


118 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“The other is longer.” 

“And better. Horas non nurnero nisi sere - 
nas. 1 ' 

“And what’s that ?” 

I translated literally. Dolly clapped her 
hands, and her face gleamed with smiles. 

“I like that one,” she cried. 

“Stop!” said I imperatively. “You’ll set it 
moving!” 

“It’s very sensible,” said she. 

“More freely rendered, it means ‘I live 
only when you — ” 

“By Jove!” remarked Archie, coming up 
behind us, pipe in mouth, “there was a lot of 
rain last night. I’ve just measured it in the 
gauge.” 

“Some people measure everything,” said 
I, with a displeased air. “It is a detestable 
habit.” 

“Archie, what does Per emit et imputantur 
mean ?” 

“Eh? Oh, I see. Weill say, Carter!— 
Oh, well, you know, I suppose it means you’ve 
got to pay for your fun, doesn’t it?” 


AN UNCOUNTED HOUR. 


119 


“Oh, is that all? I was afraid it was some- 
thing horrid. Why did you frighten me, Mr. 
Carter ?” 

“I think it is rather horrid,’’ said I. 

“Why, it isn’t even true,” said Dolly scorn- 
fully. 

Now when I heard this ancient and respect- 
able legend thus cavalierly challenged, I fell 
to studying it again, and presently I ex- 
claimed: 

“Yes, you’re right! If it said that, it 
wouldn’t be true; but Archie translated it 
wrong.” 

“Well, you have a shot,” suggested Archie. 

“The oysters are eaten and put down in 
the bill,” said I. “And you will observe, 
Archie, that it does not say in whose bill.” 

“Ah !” said Dolly. 

“Well, somebody’s got to pay,” persisted 
Archie. 

“Oh, yes, somebody,” laughed Dolly. 

“Well, I don’t know,” said Archie. “I 
suppose the chap that has the fun — ” 

“It’s not always a chap,” observed Dolly. 


120 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Well, then, the individual,” amended 
Archie. “I suppose he’d have to pay.” 

“It doesn’t say so,” I remarked mildly. 
“And according to my small experience — ” 

“I’m quite sure your meaning is right, Mr. 
Carter,” said Dolly, in an authoritative tone. 

“As for the other motto, Archie,” said I, 
“it merely means that a woman considers all 
hours wasted which she does not spend in 
the society of her husband.” 

“Oh, come, you don’t gammon me,” said 
Archie. “It means that the sun don’t shine 
unless it’s fine, you know.” 

Archie delivered this remarkable discovery 
in 'a tone of great self satisfaction. 

“Oh, you dear old thing!” said Dolly. 

“Well, it does, you know,” said he. 

There was a pause. Archie kissed his 
wife (I am not complaining; he has, of 
course, a perfect right to kiss his wife) and 
strolled away towards the hothouses. 

I lit another cigarette. Then Dolly, point- 
ing to the stem of the dial, cried: 

“Why, here’s another inscription — oh, and 
in English!” 


AN UNCOUNTED HOUR 


121 


She was right. There was another — care- 
lessly scratched on the old battered column— 
nearly effaced, for the characters had been 
but lightly marked — and yet not, as 1 con- 
ceived from the tenor of the words, very old. 

“What is it?” asked Dolly, peering over 
my shoulder, as I bent down to read the let- 
ters, and shading her eyes with her hand. 
(Why didn’t she put on her hat? We touch 
the Incomprehensible.) 

“It is,” said I, “a singularly poor, shallow, 
feeble, and undesirable little verse.” 

“Read it out,” said Dolly. 

So I read it. The silly fellow had written: 

Life is Love, the poets tell us, 

In the little books they sell us; 

But pray, ma’am — what’s of Life the Use, 

If Life be Love? For Love’s the Deuce. 

Dolly began to laugh gently, digging the 
pin again into her hat. 

“I wonder, ” said she, “whether they used 
to come and sit by this old dial just as we 
did this morning!” 

“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” said I. 
“And another point occurs to me, Lady 
Mickleham.” 


122 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Oh, does it? What’s that, Mr. Carter?” 

“Do you think that anybody measured the 
rain-gauge?” 

Dolly looked at me very gravely. 

“I’m so sorry when you do that,” said she 
pathetically. 

I smiled. 

“I really am,” said Dolly. “But you don’t 
mean it, do you?” 

“Certainly not,” said I. 

Dolly smiled. 

“No more than he did!” said I, pointing to 
the sun-dial. 

And then we both smiled. 

“Will this hour count, Mr. Carter?” asked 
Dolly, as she turned away. 

“That would be rather strict,” said I. 


XIII 


H tRemmtscence 

“I know exactly what your mother wants, 
Phyllis,’’ observed Mrs. Hilary. 

“It’s just to teach them the ordinary things,” 
said little Miss Phyllis. 

“What are the ordinary things?” I ven- 
tured to ask. 

“What all girls are taught, of course, Mr. 
Carter,” said Mrs. Hilary. “I’ll write about 
it at once ” And she looked at me as if she 
thought that I might be about to go. 

“It is a comprehensive curriculum,” I re- 
marked, crossing my legs, “if one may judge 
from the results. How old are your younger 
sisters, Miss Phyllis?” 

“Fourteen and sixteen,” she answered. 

“It is a pity,” said I, “that this didn’t 
happen a little while back. I knew a gover- 
123 


124 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


ness who would have suited the place to a ‘t’.” 

Mrs. Hilary smiled scornfully. 

“We used to meet,” I continued. 

“Who used to meet?” asked Miss Phyllis. 

“The governess and myself, to be sure,” 
said I, “under the old apple-tree in the gar- 
den at the back of the house.” 

“What house, Mr. Carter?” 

“My father’s house, of course, Miss Phyllis. 
And—” 

“Oh, but that must be ages ago!” cried 
she. 

Mrs. Hilary rose, cast one glance at me, 
and turned to the writing-table. Her pen 
began to scratch almost immediately. 

“And under the apple-tree,” I pursued, 
“we had many pleasant conversations.” 

“What about?” asked Miss Phyllis. 

“One thing and another,” I returned. “The 
schoolroom windows looked out that way — a 
circumstance which made matters more com- 
fortable for everybody.” 

“I should have thought — ” began Miss 
Phyllis, smiling slightly, but keeping an ap- 
prehensive eye on Mrs. Hilary’s back. 


A REMINISCENCE 


125 


“Not at all,” I interrupted- “My sisters 
saw us, you see. Well, of course they en- 
tertained an increased respect for me, which 
was all right, and a decreased respect for the 
governess, which was also all right We met 
in the hour allotted to French lessons — by an 
undesigned but appropriate coincidence.” 

“I shall say about thirty-five, Phyllis,” called 
Mrs. Hilary from the writing-table. 

“Yes, Cousin Mary,” called Miss Phyllis. 
“Did you meet often, Mr. Carter?” 

“Every evening in the French hour,” 
said I. 

“She’ll have got over any nonsense by 
then,” called Mrs. Hilary. “They are often 
full of it.” 

“She had remarkably pretty hair,” I con- 
tinued; “very soft it was. Dear me! I was 
just twenty.” 

“How old was she?” asked Miss Phyllis. 

“One’s first love,” said I, “is never any age. 
Everything went very well. Happiness was 
impossible. I was heartbroken, and the 
governess was far from happy. Ah, happy, 
happy times!” 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


12(5 

“But you don’t seem to have been happy,” 
objected Miss Phyllis. 

“Then came a terrible evening-—” 

“She ought to be a person cf active habits,” 
called Mrs. Hilary. 

“I think so, yes, Cousin Mary. Oh, what 
happened, Mr. Carter?” 

“And an early riser,” added Mrs. Hilary. 

“Yes, Cousin Mary. What did happen, 
Mr. Carter?” 

“My mother came in during the French 
hour. I don’t know whether you have ob- 
served, Miss Phyllis, how easy it is to slip 
into the habit of entering rooms when you 
had better remain outside. Now, even my 
friend Arch — However, that’s neither here 
nor there. My mother, as I say, came in.” 

“Church of England, of course, Phyllis?” 
called Mrs; Hilary. 

“Oh, of course , Cousin Mary,” cried little 
Miss Phyllis. 

“The sect makes no difference,” I observed. 
“Well, my sisters, like good girls, began to re- 
peat the irregular verbs. But it was no use. 


A REMINISCENCE 


127 


We were discovered. That night, Miss Phyl- 
lis, I nearly drowned myself. ” 

“You must have been — Oh, how awful, 
Mr. Carter!” 

“That is to say, I thought how effective it 
would be if I drowned myself. Ah, well, it 
couldn’t last!” 

“And the governess?” 

“She left next morning.” 

There was a pause. Miss Phyllis looked 
sad and thoughtful; I smiled pensively and 
beat my cane against my leg. 

“Have you ever seen her since?” asked 
Miss Phyllis. 

“No.” 

“Shouldn’t — shouldn’t you like to, Mr. 
Carter?” 

“Heaven forbid!” said I. 

Suddenly Mrs. Hilary pushed back her 
chair, and turned round to us. 

“Well, I declare,” said she, “I must be 
growing stupid. Here have I been writing 
to the Agency, when I know of the very thing 
myself! The Polwheedles’ governess is just 


123 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


leaving them; she’s been there over fifteen 
years. Lady Polwheedle told me she was a 
treasure. I wonder if she’d go!” 

“Is she what mamma wants?” 

“My dear, you’ 11 be most lucky to get her. 
I’ll write at once and ask her to corre to 
lunch to-morrow. I met her there. She’s 
an admirable person.” 

Mrs. Hilary wheeled round again. I shook 
my head at Miss Phyllis. 

“Poor children!” said I. “Manage a bit of 
fun for them sometimes.” 

Miss Phyllis assumed a staid and virtuous 
air. 

“They must be properly brought up, Mr. 
Carter,” said she. 

“Is there a House Opposite?” I asked; and 
Miss Phyllis blushed. 

Mrs. Hilary advanced, holding out a let- 
ter. 

“You may as well post this for me,” said 
she. “Oh, and' would you like to come to 
lunch to-morrow?” 

“To meet the Paragon?” 


A REMINISCENCE 


129 


“No. She’ll be there, of courses but you 
see it’s Saturday, and Hilary will be here; 
and I thought you might take him off some- 
where and leave Phyllis and me to have a 
quiet talk with her.” 

“That won’t amuse her much,” I ventured 
to remark. 

“She’s not coming to be amused ,” said 
Mrs. Hilary severely. 

“All right; I’ll come,” said I, taking my 
hat. 

“Here’s the note for Miss Bannerman,” 
said Mrs. Hilary. 

That sort of thing never surprises me. I 
looked at the letter and read “Miss M. E. 
Bannerman.” “M. E.” stood for “Maud 

Elizabeth.” I put my hat back on the table. 

“What sort of a looking person is this Miss 
Bannerman?” I asked. 

“Oh, a spare, upright woman — hair a little 
gray, and — I don’t know how to describe it — 
her face looks a little weather-beaten. She 
wears glasses.” 

“Thank you,” said I. “And what sort of 
a looking person am I?” 


130 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


Mrs. Hilary looked scornful. Miss Phyllis 
opened her eyes. 

“How old do I look, Miss Phyllis?” I asked. 

Miss Phyllis scanned me from top to toe. 

“I don’t know,” she said uncomfortably. 

“Guess,” said I sternly. 

“F-forty-three — oh, -or forty-two?” she 
asked, with a timid upward glance. 

“When you’ve done your nonsense — ’’began 
Mrs. Hilary; but I laid a hand on her arm. 

“Should you call me fat?” I asked. 

“Oh, no, not fat,” said Mrs. Hilary, with 
a smile, which she strove to render reassur- 
ing. 

“I am undoubtedly bald,” I observed. 

“You’re certainly bald,” said Mrs. Hilary, 
with regretful candor. 

I took my hat and remarked: “A man 
has a right to think of himself, but I am not 
thinking mainly of myself. I shall not come 
to lunch.” 

“You said you would,” cried Mrs. Hilary 
indignantly. 

I poised the letter in my hand, reading 


A REMINISCENCE 


131 


again, “Miss M(aud) E(lizabeth) Bannerman.” 
Miss Phyllis looked at me curiously, Mrs. Hil- 
ary impatiently. 

“Who knows,” said I, “that I may not be 
a Romance— -a Vanished Dream — a Green 
Memory — an Oasis? A person who has the 
fortune to be an Oasis, Miss Phyllis, should 
be very careful. I will not come to lunch.” 

“Do you mean that you used to know Miss 
Bannerman?” asked Mrs. Hilary in her pleas- 
ant prosaic way. 

It was a sin seventeen years old; it would 
hardly count against the blameless Miss 
Bannerman now. “You may tell her when 
I’m gone,” said I to Miss Phyllis. 

Miss Phyllis whispered in Mrs. Hilary’s 
ear. 

“Another!” cried Mrs. Hilary, aghast. 

“It was the very first,” said I, defending 
myself. 

Mrs. Hilary began to laugh. I smoothed 
my hat. 

“Tell her,” said I, “that I remembered her 
very well.” 


132 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“I shall do no such thing,” said Mrs. Hil- 
ary. 

“And tell her,” I continued, “that I am still 
handsome.” 

“I shan’t say a word about you,” said Mrs. 
Hilary. 

“Ah, well, that will be better still,” said I. 
“She’ll have forgotten your very name,” 
remarked Mrs, Hilary. 

I opened the door, but a thought struck 
me. I turned round and observed: 

“I dare say her hair’s just as soft as ever. 
Still — I’ll lunch some other day.” 


XIV 

B fine Ba£ 

‘‘I see nothing whatever to laugh at,” said 
Mrs Hilary coldly, when I had finished, 

“I did not ask you to laugh,” I observed 
mildly. “I mentioned it merely as a typical 
case.” 

“It’s not typical,” she said, and took up 
her embroidery. But a moment later she 
added : 

“Poor boy! I’m not surprised.” 

“I’m not surprised either,” I remarked. 
“It is, however, extremely deplorable.” 

“It’s your own fault. Why did you 
introduce him?” 

“A book,” I observed, “might be written 
on the Injustice of the Just. How could I 
suppose that he would—?” 

By the way, I may as well state what he — 

133 


134 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


that is, my young cousin George — had done. 
Unless one is a genius, it is best to aim at 
being intelligible. 

Well, he was in love; and with a view of 
providing him with another house at which 
he might be likely to meet the adored ob- 
ject, I presented him to my friend Lady 
Mickleham. That was on a Tuesday. A 
fortnight later, as I was sitting in Hyde Park 
(as I sometimes do), George came up and 
took the chair next to me. I gave him a 
cigarette, but made no remark. George beat 
his cane restlessly against the leg of his 
trousers. 

“I’ve got to go up to-morrow, ”he remarked. 

“Ah, well, Oxford is a delightful town,” 
said I. 

“D — d hole,” observed George. 

I was about to contest this opinion when a 
victoria drove by. 

A girl sat in it, side by side with a portly 
lady. 

“George, George!” I cried. “There she is 
—Look!” 


A FINE DAY 


135 


George looked, raised his hat with suffi- 
cient politeness, and remarked to me: 

“Hang it, one sees those people every- 
where.” 

I am not easily surprised, but I confess I 
turned to George with an expression of won- 
der. 

“A fortnight ago — ” I began. 

“Don’t be an ass, Sam,” said George, 
rather sharply. “She’s not a bad girl, but — ” 
He broke off and began to whistle. There 
was a long pause. I lit a cigar, and looked 
at the people. 

“I lunched at the Micklehams’ to-day,” 
said George, drawing a figure on the gravel 
with his cane. “Mickleham’s not a bad 
fellow.” 

“One of the best fellows alive,” I agreed. 

“I wonder why she married him, though,” 
mused George; and he added, with apparent 
irrelevance, “It’s a dashed bore, going up.” 
And then a smile spread over his face; a 
blush accompanied it, and proclaimed George’s 
sense of delicious wickedness. I turned on 
him. 


136 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUE 


“Out with it !” I said. 

“It’s nothing. Don’t be a fool, ’’said George. 

“Where did you get that rose?” I asked. 

“This rose?” he repeated, fondling the blos- 
som. “It was given to me.” 

Upon this I groaned — and I still consider 
that I had good reason for my action. It was 
the groan of a moralist. 

“They’ve asked me to stay at The Towers 
next vac.,” said George, glancing at me out 
of the corner of an immoral eye. Perhaps 
he thought it too immoral, for he added, 
“It’s all right , Sam.” I believe that I have 
as much self-control as most people, but at 
this point I chuckled. 

“What the deuce are you laughing at?” 
asked George. 

I made no answer, and he went on — ■ 

“You never told me what a— what she was 
like, Sam. Wanted to keep it to yourself, you 
old dog.” 

“George — George — George!” said I. “You 
go up tomorrow?” 

“Yes, confound it!” 


A FINE DAY 


137 


“And term lasts two months?” 

“Yes — hang it !” 

“All is well,” said I, crossing my legs. 
“There is more virtue in two months than in 
Ten Commandments.” 

George regarded me with a dispassionate 
air. 

“You’re an awful ass sometimes,” he ob- 
served critically, and he rose from his seat. 

“Must you go?” said I. 

“Yes — got a lot of things to do. Look here, 
Sam, don’t go and talk about — ” 

“Talk about what?” 

“Anything, you old idiot,” said George, with 
a pleased smile, and he dug me in the ribs 
with his cane, and departed. 

I sat on, admiring the simple elements 
which constitute the happiness of the young. 
Alas! with advancing years, Wrong loses half 
its flavor! To be improper ceases, by itself, 
to satisfy. 

Immersed in these reflections, I failed to 
notice that a barouche had stopped opposite 
to me; and suddenly I found a footman ad- 
dressing me. 


138 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Beg your pardon, sir,” he said. “Her 
ladyship wishes to speak to you.” 

“It is a blessed thing to be young, Martin,” 
I observed. 

“Yes, sir,” said Martin. “It’s a fine day, 
sir.” 

“But very short,” said I. Martin is respect- 
ful, and said nothing — to me, at least. What 
he said to the coachman, I don*t know. 

And then I went up to Dolly. 

“Get in and drive round,” suggested Dolly. 

“I can’t,” said I. “I have a bad nose.” 

“What’s the matter with your nose?” 
asked Dolly, smiling. 

“The joint is injured,” said I, getting into 
the barouche. And I added severely, “I sup- 
pose I’d better sit with my back to the 
horses?” 

“Oh, no, you’re not my husband,” said 
Dolly. “Sit here;” and she made room by 
her, as she continued, “I rather like Mr. 
George.” 

“I’m ashamed of you,”I observed. “Con- 
sidering your age — ” 


A FINE DAY 


139 


“Mr. Carter!” 

“Considering, I say, his age, your conduct 
is scandalous. I shall never introduce any 
nice boys to you again ” 

“Oh, please do,” said Dolly, clasping her 
hands. 

“You give them roses,” said I, accusingly. 
“You make them false to their earliest 
loves — ” 

“She was a pudding-faced thing,” observed 
Dolly. 

I frowned. Dolly, by an accident, allowed 
the tip of her finger to touch my arm for an 
instant. 

“He’s a nice boy,” said she. “How like 
he is to you, Mr. Carter!” 

“I am a long way past that,”said I. “I am 
thirty-six.” 

“If you mean to be disagreeable!” said she 
turning away. “I beg your pardon for touch- 
ing you, Mr. Carter.” 

“I did not notice it, Lady Mickleham.” 

“Would you like to get out?” 

“It’s miles from my club,” said I discon- 
tentedly. 


140 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“He’s such fun,” said Dolly, with a sudden 
smile. “He told Archie that I was the most 
charming woman in London! You’ve never 
done that!” 

“He said the same about the pudding-faced 
girl,” I observed. 

There was a pause. Then Dolly asked: 

“How is your nose?” 

“The carriage-exercise is doing it good,” 
said I. 

“If,” observed Dolly, “he is so silly now, 
what will he be at your age?” 

“A wise man,” said I. 

“He suggested that I might write to him,” 
bubbled Dolly. 

Now when Dolly bubbles — an opera- 
tion which includes a sudden turn to- 
wards me, a dancing of eyes, a dart of a 
small hand, a hurried rush of words, checked 
and confused by a speedier gust of gurgling 
sound — I am in the habit of ceasing to argue 
the question. Bubbling is not to be met by 
arguing. I could only say: 

“He’ll have forgotten by the end of the 
term.” 


A FINE DAY 


141 


“He’ll remember two days later,” retorted 
Dolly. 

“Stop the carriage,” said I. “I shall tell 
Mrs. Hilary all about it.” 

“I won’t stop the carriage,” said Dolly. 
“I’m going to take you home with me.” 

“I am at a premium to-day,” I said sardon- 
ically. 

“One must have something,” said Dolly. 
“How is your nose now, Mr. Carter?” 

I looked at Dolly. I had better not have 
done that. 

“Would afternoon tea hurt it?” she inquired 
anxiously. 

“It would do it good,” said I decisively. 

And that is absolutely the whole story. 
And what in the world Mrs. Hilary found to 
disapprove of I don’t know —especially as I 
didn’t tell her half of it! But she did disap- 
prove. However, she looks very well when 
she disapproves. 


XV 


U\k Ibouse ©ppostte 

We were talking over the sad case of young 
Algy Groom; I was explaining to Mrs. Hilary 
exactly what had happened. 

“His father gave him,” said I, “a hundred 
pounds, to keep him for three months in 
Paris while he learnt French.” 

“And very liberal too,” said Mrs. Hilary. 

“It depends where you dine,” said I. “How- 
ever, that question did not arise, for Algy 
went to the Grand Prix the day after he ar- 
rived — ” 

“A horse race?” asked Mrs. Hilary with 
great contempt. 

“Certainly the competitors are horses,” I 
rejoined. “And there he, most unfortunately, 
lost the whole sum, without learning any 
French to speak of.” 

143 


THE HOUSE OPPOSITE 


143 


“How disgusting!” exclaimed Mrs. Hilary, 
and little Miss Phyllis gasped in horror. 

“Oh, well,” said Hilary, with much brav- 
ery (as it struck me), “his father’s very well 
off.” 

“That doesn’t make it a bit better,” de- 
clared his wife. 

“There’s no mortal sin in a little betting, 
my dear. Boys will be boys — ” 

“And even that,” I interposed, “wouldn’t 
matter if we could only prevent girls from 
being girls.” 

Mrs. Hilary, taking no notice whatever of 
me, pronounced sentence. “He grossly de- 
ceived his father,” she said, and took up her 
embroidery. 

“Most of us have grossly deceived our par- 
ents before now,” said I. “We should all 
have to confess to something of the sort.” 

“I hope you’re speaking for your own sex,” 
observed Mrs. Hilary. 

“Not more than yours,” said I. “You used 
to meet Hilary on the pier when your father 
wasn’t there — you told me so,” 


144 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Father had authorized my acquaintance 
with Hilary.” 

“I hate quibbles,” said I. 

There was a pause. Mrs. Hilary stitched; 
Hilary observed that the day was fine. 

“Now,” I pursued carelessly, “even Miss 
Phyllis here has been known to deceive her 
parents.” 

“Oh, let the poor child alone, anyhow,” 
said Mrs. Hilary. 

“Haven’t you?” said I to Miss Phyllis. 

I expected an indignant denial. So did 
Mrs. Hilary, for she remarked with a sym- 
pathetic air. 

“Never mind his folly, Phyllis dear.” 

“Haven’t you, Miss Phyllis?” said I. 

Miss Phyllis grew very red. Fearing that I 
was causing her pain, I was about to observe 
on the prospects of a Dissolution when a shy 
smile spread over Miss Phyllis’s face. 

“Yes, once,” said she with a timid glance 
at Mrs. Hilary, who immediately laid down 
her embroidery. 

“Out with it,” I cried, triumphantly. “Come 


THE HOUSE OPPOSITE 


145 


along, Miss Phyllis. We won’t tell, honor 
bright !” 

Miss Phyllis looked again at Mrs Hilary. 
Mrs. Hilary is human: 

“Well, Phyllis dear,” said she, “after all 
this time I shouldn’t think it my duty — ” 

“It only happened last summer,” said Miss 
Phyllis. 

Mrs. Hilary looked rather put out. 

“Still,” she began — 

“We must have the*story,” said I. 

Little Miss Phyllis put down the sock she 
had been knitting. 

“I was very naughty,” she remarked. “It 
was my last term at school.” 

“I know that age,” said I to Hilary. 

“My window looked out towards the street. 
You’re sure you won’t tell? Well, there was 
a house opposite — ” 

“And a young man in it,” said I. 

“How did you know that?” asked Miss 
Phyllis, blushing immensely. 

“No girls’ school can keep up its numbers 
without one,” I explained. 


146 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Well, there was, anyhow, ’’said Miss Phyllis. 
“And I and two other girls went to a course 
of lectures at the Town Hall on literature or 
something of that kind. We used to have a 
shilling given us for our tickets.” 

“Precisely,” said I. “A hundred pounds!” 

“No, a shilling,” corrected Miss Phyllis. “A 
hundred pounds! How absurd, Mr. Carter! 
Well, one day I — I — ” 

“You’re sure you wish to go on, Phyllis?” 
asked Mrs. Hilary. 

“You’re afraid, Mrs. Hilary,” said I se- 
verely. 

“Nonsense, Mr. Carter. I thought Phyllis 
might — ” * 

“I don’t mind going on,” said Miss Phyllis, 
smiling. “One day I — I lost the other girls.” 

“The other girls are always easy to lose,” 
I observed. 

“And on the way there — oh, you know, he 
went to the lectures.” 

“The young dog,” said I, nudging Hilary. 
“I should think he did!” 

“On the way there it became rather— rather 
foggy.” 


THE HOUSE OPPOSITE 


147 


“Blessings on it!” I cried; for little Miss 
Phyllis’s demure but roguish expression de- 
lighted me. 

“And he — he found me in the fog.” 

“What are you doing, Mr. Carter?” cried 
Mrs. Hilary angiily. 

“Nothing, nothing,” said I. I believe I had 
winked at Hilary. 

“And— and we couldn’t find the Town 
Hall.” 

“Oh, Phyllis!” groaned Mrs. Hilary. 

Little Miss Phyllis looked alarmed for a 
moment. Then she smiled. 

“But we found the confectioner’s, ”said she. 

“The Grand Prix ,” said I, pointing my 
forefinger at Hilary. 

“He had no money at all,” said Miss Phyllis. 

“It’s ideal !” said I. 

“And — and we had tea on— on — ” 

“The shilling?” I cried in rapture. 

“Yes,” said little Miss Phyllis, “on the shil- 
ling. And he saw me home.” 

“Details, please,” said I. 

Little Miss Phyllis shook her head. 


148 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“And left me at the door.” 

“Was it still foggy?” I asked. 

“Yes. Or he wouldn’t have — ” 

“Now what did he — *_?” 

“Come to the door, Mr. Carter,” said Miss 
Phyllis, with obvious wariness. “Oh, and it 
was such fun!” 

“I’m sure it was.” 

“No, I mean when we were examined in 
the lectures. I bought the local paper, you 
know, and read it up, and I got top marks 
easily, and Miss Green wrote to mother to 
say how well I had done.” 

“It all ends most satisfactorily,” I ob- 
served. 

“Yes, didn’t it?” said little Miss Phyllis. 

Mrs. Hilary was grave again. 

“And you never told your mother, Phyllis?” 
she asked. 

“N-no, Cousin Mary,” said Miss Phyllis. 

I rose and stood with my back to the fire. 
Little Miss Phyllis took up her sock again, 
but a smile still played about the corners of 
her mouth. 


THE HOUSE OPPOSITE 


149 


“I wonder,” said I, looking up at the ceil- 
ing, “what happened at the door.” Then, as 
no one spoke, I added: 

“Pooh! I know what happened at the 
door.” 

“I’m not going to tell you anything more,” 
said Miss Phyllis. 

“But I should like to hear it in your own — ” 

Miss Phyllis was gone! She had suddenly 
risen and run from the room! 

“It did happen at the door,” said I. 

“Fancy Phyllis!” mused Mrs. Hilary. 

“I hope,” said I, “that it will be a lesson 
to you.” 

“I shall have to keep my eye on her,” 
said Mrs. Hilary. 

“You can’t do it,” said I in easy confi- 
dence. I had no fear of little Miss Phyllis be- 
ing done out of her recreations. “Meanwhile,” 
I pursued, “the important thing is this: my 
parallel is obvious and complete.” 

“There’s not the least likeness,” said Mrs. 
Hilary sharply. 

“As a hundred pounds are to a shilling so 


150 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


is the Grand Prix to the young man opposite,” 
I observed, taking my hat, and holding out 
my hand to Mrs. Hilary. 

“I am very angry with you,” she said. 
“ You’ve made the child think there was noth- 
ing wrong in it.” 

“Oh! nonsense,” said I. “Look how she 
enjoyed telling it.” 

Then, not heeding Mrs. Hilary, I launched 
into an apostrophe. 

“O, divine House Opposite!” I cried. 
“Charming House Opposite! What is a man’s 
own dull, uneventful home compared with that 
Glorious House Opposite! If only I might 
dwell for ever in the House Opposite!” 

“I haven’t the least notion what you mean,” 
remarked Mrs. Hilary, stiffly. “I suppose it’s 
something silly — or worse.” 

I looked at her in some puzzle. 

“Have you no longing for the House Oppo- 
site?” I asked. 

Mrs. Hilary looked at me. Her eyes ceased 
to be absolutely blank. She put her arm 
through Hilary’s and answered gently — 


THE HOUSE OPPOSITE 


151 


“I don’t want the House Opposite.” 

“Ah,” said I, giving my hat a brush, “but 
maybe you remember the House — when it 
was Opposite?” 

Mrs. Hilary, one arm still in Hilary’s, gave 
me her hand. She blushed and smiled. 

“Well,” said she, “it was your fault; so I 
won’t scold Phyllis.” 

“No, don't, my dear,” said Hilary, with a 
laugh. 

As for me, I went down stairs, and, in ab- 
sence of mind, bade my cabman drive to the 
House Opposite. But I have never got 
there. 


XVI 


B (Siutcfe Change 

44 Why not go with Archie?” I asked, spread- 
ing out my hands. 

“It will be dull enough, anyhow,” said 
Dolly, fretfully. “Besides, it’s awfully bour- 
geois to go to the theater with one’s hus- 
band.” 

u Bourgeois ,”I observed, “is an epithet which 
the riffraff apply to what is respectable, and 
the aristocracy to what is decent.” 

“But it’s not a nice thing to be, all the 
same,” said Dolly, who is impervious to the 
most penetrating remark. 

“You’re in no danger of it,” I hastened to 
assure her. 

“How should you describe me, then?” she 
asked, leaning forward, with a smile. 

“I should describe you, Lady Mickleham,” 

152 


A QUICK CHANGE 


153 


I replied discreetly, “as being a little lower 
than the angels.” 

Dolly’s smile was almost a laugh as she 
asked: 

“How much lower, please, Mr. Carter?” 

“Just by the depth of your dimples,” said I 
thoughtlessly. 

Dolly became immensely grave. 

“I thought,” said she, “that we never men- 
tioned them now, Mr. Carter.” 

“Did we ever?” I asked innocently. 

“I seemed to remember once: do you recol- 
lect being in very low spirits one evening at 
Monte?” 

“I remember being in very low water more 
than one evening there.” 

“Yes; you told me you were terribly hard-, 
up.” 

“There was an election in our division that 
year,” I remarked, “and I remitted 30 per 
cent of my rents.” 

“You did — to M. Blanc,” said Dolly. “Oh, 
and you were very dreary! You said you’d 
wasted your life and your time and your op- 
portunities.” 


154 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Oh, you mustn’t suppose I never have any 
proper feelings,” said I complacently. 

“I think you were hardly yourself.” 

“Do be more charitable.” 

“And you said that your only chance was in 
gaining the affection of — ” 

“Surely I was not such an — so foolish?” I 
implored. 

“Yes, you were. You were sitting close by 
me — ” 

“Oh, then, it doesn’t count,” said I, rally- 
ing a little. 

“On a bench. You remember the bench?” 

“No, I don’t,” said I, with a kind but firm 
smile. 

“Not the bench?” 

“No.” 

Dolly looked at me, then she asked in an in- 
sinuating tone — 

“When did you forget it, Mr. Carter?” 

“The day you were buried,” I rejoined. 

“I see. Well, you said then what you 
couldn’t possibly have meant.” 

“I dare say. I often did.” 


A QUICK CHANGE 


155 


“That they were — ” 

“That what were?” 

“Why, the — the — what we’re talking 
about.” 

“What we were — ? Oh, to be sure, the — 
the blemishes?” 

“Yes, the blemishes-. You said they were 
the most — ” 

“Oh, well, it was a facon de parler .” 

“I was afraid you weren’t a bit sincere,” 
said Dolly humbly. 

“Well, judge by yourself,” said I with a 
candid air. 

“But I said nothing!” cried Dolly. 

“It was incomparably the most artistic 
thing to do,” said I. 

“I’m sometimes afraid you don’t do me 
justice, Mr. Carter,” remarked Dolly with 
some pathos. 

I did not care to enter upon that discus- 
sion, and a pause followed. Then Dolly, in 
a timid manner, asked me — 

“Do you remember the dreadful thing that 
happened the same evening?” 


15G 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“That chances to remain in my memory,” 
I admitted. 

“I’ve always thought it kind of you never 
to speak of it,” said she. 

“It is best forgotten,” said I, smiling. 

“We should have said the same about any- 
body,” protested Dolly. 

“Certainly. We were only trying to be 
smart,” said I. 

“And it was horribly unjust.” 

“I quite agree with you, Lady Mickleham.” 

“Besides, I didn’t know anything about 
him then He had only arrived that day, you 
see.” 

“Really we were not to blame,” I urged. 

“Oh, but doesn’t it seem funny?” 

“A strange whirligig, no doubt,” I mused. 

There was a pause. Then the faintest of 
smiles appeared on Dolly’s face. 

“He shouldn’t have worn such clothes, ’’she 
said, as though in self-defense. “Anybody 
would have looked absurd in them.” 

“It was all the clothes,” I agreed. “Be- 
sides, when a man doesn’t know a place, he 
always moons about and looks — ” 


A QUICK CHANGE 


15 ? 


“Yes. Rather awkward, doesn’t he, Mr. 
Carter?” 

“And the mere fact of his looking at you — ” 

“At us, please.” 

“Is nothing, although we made a grievance 
of it at the time.” 

“That was very absurd of you,” said Dolly, 

“It was certainly unreasonable of us,” 
said I. 

“We ought to have known he was a gentle- 
man.” 

“But we scouted the idea of it,” said I. 

“It was a most curious mistake to make,” 
said Dolly. 

“O, well, it’s put right now,” said I. 

“Oh, Mr. Carter, do you remember mam- 
ma’s face when we described him?” 

“That was a terrible moment,” said I, with 
a shudder. 

“I said he was — ugly,” whispered Dolly. 

“And I said — something worse,” mur- 
mured I. 

“And mamma knew at once from our de- 
scription that it was — ” 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


153 

“She saw it in a minute,” said I. 

“And then you went away.” 

“Well, I rather suppose I did,” said I. 

“Mamma is just a little like the Dowager 
sometimes,” said Dolly. 

“There is a touch now and • then,” I 
conceded. 

“And when I was introduced to him the next 
day I absolutely blushed. 

“I don’t altogether wonder at that,” I ob- 
served. 

“But it wasn’t as if he’d heard what we 
were saying.” 

“No; but he’d seen w'hat we were doing.” 

“Well, what were we doing ?”cried Dolly de- 
fiantly. 

“Conversing confidentially,” said I. 

“And a week later you went home!” 

“Just one week later,” said I. 

There was a long pause. 

“Well, you’ll take me to the theater?” asked 
Dolly, with something which, if I were so dis- 
posed, I might consider a sigh. 

“I’ve seen the piece twice,” said I. 


A QUICK CHANGE 159 

“How tiresome of you! You’ve seen every- 
thing twice.” 

“I’ve seen some things much oftener,” I ob- 
served. 

“I’ll get a nice girl for you to talk to, and 
I’ll have a young man.” 

“I don’t want my girl to be too nice” I 
observed. 

“She shall retty,” said. Dolly gener- 
ously. 

“I don’t mind if I do come with you,” 
said I. “What becomes of Archie?” 

“He’s going to take his mother and his sis- 
ters to the Albert Hall.” 

My face brightened. 

“I am unreasonable,” I admitted. 

“Sometimes you are,*” said Dolly. 

“I have much to be thankful for. Have 
you ever observed a small boy eat a penny 
ice?” 

“Of course I have,” said Dolly. 

“What does he do when he’s finished it?” 

“Stop, I suppose.” 

“On the contrary,” said I, “he licks the 
glass.” 


ICO 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Yes, he does,” said Dolly meditatively. 

“It’s not so bad — licking the glass,” said I. 

Dolly stood opposite me, smiling. At this 
moment Archie entered. He had been work- 
ing at his lathe. He is very fond of making 
things which he doesn’t want, and then giv- 
ing them to people who have no use for 
them. 

“How are you, old chap?” he began. “I’ve 
just finished an uncommon pretty—” 

He stopped, paralyzed by a cry from 
Dolly— 

“Archie, what in the world are you wear- 
ing?” 

I turned a startled gaze upon Archie. 

“It’s just an old suit I routed out,” said he 
apologetically. 

I looked at Dolly; her eyes were close shut, 
and she gasped — 

“My dear, dear boy, go and change it!” 

“I don’t see why it’s not — ” 

“Go and change it, if you love me,” be- 
sought Dolly. 

“Oh, all right.” 


A QUICK CHANGE 161 

“You look hideous in it,” she said, her eyes 
still shut. 

Archie, who is very docile, withdrew. A 
guilty silence reigned for some moments. 
Then Dolly opened her eyes. “It was the 
suit,” she said, with a shudder. “Oh, how it 
all came back to me!” 

“I could wish,” I observed, taking my hat, 
“that it would all come back to me.” 

“I wonder if you mean that!” 

“As much as I ever did,” said I earnestly. 

“And that is — ?” 

“Quite enough.” 

“How tiresome you are!” she said, turning 
away with a smile. 

Outside I met Archie in another suit. 

“A quick change, eh, my boy?” said he. 

“It took just a week,” I remarked absently. 

Archie stared. 


XVII 


B sum Mistake 

“I don’t ask you for more than a guinea,” 
said Mrs. Hilary, with a parade of forbear- 
ance. 

“It would be the same,” I replied politely, 
“if you asked me for a thousand;” with which 
I handed her half-a-crown. She held it in 
her open hand, regarding it scornfully. 

“Yes,” I continued, taking a seat, “I feel 
that pecuniary gifts—” 

“Half-a-crown!” 

“Are a poor substitute for personal service. 
May not I accompany you to the ceremony?” 

“I dare say you spent as much as this on 
wine with your lunch!” 

“I was in a mad mood to-day,” I answered 
apologetically. “What are they taught at 
the school?” 


162 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE 


163 


“Above all, to be good girls,” said Mrs. 
Hilary earnestly. “What are you sneering 
at, Mr. Carter?” 

“Nothing,” said I hastily, and I added with 
a sigh, “I suppose it’s all right.” 

“I should like,” said Mrs. Hilary medita- 
tively, “if I had not other duties, to dedicate 
my life to the service of girls.” 

“I should think twice about that, if I were 
you,” said I, shaking my head. 

“By the way, Mr. Carter, I don’t know if 
I’ve ever spoken unkindly of Lady Mickle- 
ham. I hope not.” 

“Hope,” said I, “is not yet taxed.” 

“If I have, I’m very sorry. She’s been 
most kind in undertaking to give away the 
prizes to-day. There must be some good in 
her.” 

“Oh, don’t be hasty,” I implored. 

“I always wanted to think well of her.” 

“Ah! Now I never did.” 

“And Lord Mickleham is coming, too. He’ll 
be most useful.” 

“That settles it,” I exclaimed. “I may not 


164 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


be an earl, but I have a perfect right to be 
useful. I'll go too.” 

“I wonder if you’ll behave properly,” said 
Mrs. Hilary doubtfully. 

I held out a half-sovereign, three half- 
crowns, and a shilling. 

“Oh, well, you may come, since Hilary 
can’t,” said Mrs. Hilary. 

“You mean he won’t,” I observed. 

“He has always been prevented hitherto,” 
said she, with dignity. 

So I went, and it proved a most agreeable 
expedition. There were 200 girls in blue 
frocks and white aprons (the girl three from 
the end of the fifth row was decidedly pretty) 
— a nice lot of prize books — the Micklehams 
(Dolly in demure black), ourselves, and the 
matron. All went well. Dolly gave away 
the prizes; Mrs. Hilary and Archie made little 
speeches. Then the matron came to me. I 
was sitting modestly at the back of the plat- 
form, a little distance behind the others. 

“Mr Musgrave,” said the matron to me, 
“we’re so glad to see you here at last. Won’t 
you say a few words?” 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE 


1(55 


“It would be a privilege,” I responded cor- 
dially, “but unhappily I have a sore throat.” 

The matron (who was a most respectable 
woman) said, “Dear, dear!” but did not press 
the point. Evidently, however, she liked me, 
for when we went to have a cup of tea, she got 
me in a corner and began to tell me all about 
the work. It was extremely interesting. Then 
the matron observed: 

“And what an angel Mrs. Musgrave is!” 

“Well, I should hardly call her that,” said 
I, with a smile. 

“Oh, you mustn’t depreciate her — you, of 
all men!” cried the matron, with a somewhat 
ponderous archness. “Really I envy you her 
constant society.” 

“I assure you,” said I, “I see very little of 
her.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I only go to the house about once a fort- 
night — Oh, it’s not my fault. She won’t 
have me there ofteoer.” 

“What do you mean? I beg your pardon. 
Perhaps I’ve touched on a painful — ?” 


16G 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Not at all, not at all,” said I suavely. “It 
is very natural. I am neither young nor 
handsome, Mrs. Wiggins. I am not com- 
plaining.” 

The matron gazed at me. 

“Only seeing her here,” I pursued, “you 
have no idea of what she is at home. She 
has chosen to forbid me to come to her 
house — ” 

“Her house?” 

“It happens to be more hers than mine,” 
I explained. “To forbid me, I say, more than 
once to come to her house. No doubt she 
had her reasons.” 

“Nothing could justify it,” said the matron, 
directing a wondering glance at Mrs. Hilary. 

“Do not let us blame her,” said I. “It is 
just an unfortunate accident. She is not as 
fond of me as I could wish, Mrs. Wiggins; 
and she is a great deal fonder than I could 
wish of — ” 

I broke off. Mrs. Hilary was walking to- 
ward us. I think she was pleased to see me 
getting on so well with the matron, for she 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE 


167 


was smiling pleasantly. The matron wore a 
bewildered expression. 

“I suppose,” said Mrs. Hilary, “that you’ll 
drive back with the Micklehams?” 

“Unless you want me,” said I, keeping a 
watchful eye on the matron. 

“Oh, I don’t want you,” said Mrs. Hilary 
lightly. 

“You won’t be alone this evening?” I asked 
anxiously. 

Mrs. Hilary stared a little. 

“O, no!” she said. “We shall have our 
usual party.” 

“May I come one day next week?” I asked 
humbly. 

Mrs. Hilary thought for a moment. 

“I’m so busy next week — come the week 
after,” said she, giving me her hand. 

“That’s very unkind,” said I. 

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Hilary, and she 
added, “Mind you let me know when you’re 
coming.” 

“I won’t surprise you,” I assured her, with 
a covert glance at the matron. 


168 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


The excellent woman was quite red in the 
face, and could gasp out nothing but “Good- 
bye,” as Mrs. Hilary affectionately pressed 
her hand. 

At this moment Dolly came up. She was 
alone. 

“Where’s Archie?” I asked. 

“He’s run away; he’s got to meet some- 
body. I knew you’d see me home. Mrs. 
Hilary didn’t want you, of course?” 

“Of course not,” said I plaintively. 

“Besides, you’d rather come with me, 
wouldn’t you?” pursued Dolly, and she added 
pleasantly to the matron, “Mrs. Hilary’s so 
down on him, you know.” 

“I’d much rather come with you,” said I. 

“We’ll have a cozy drive all to ourselves,” 
said Dolly, “without husbands or wives or any- 
thing horrid. Isn’t it nice to get rid of one’s 
husband sometimes, Mrs. Wiggins?” 

“I have the misfortune to be a widow, Lady 
Mickleham,” said Mrs. Wigggins. 

Dolly’s eye rested upon her with an inter- 
ested expression. I knew that she was about 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE 


169 


to ask Mrs. Wiggins whether she liked the 
condition of life, and I interposed hastily, 
with a sigh: 

“But you can look back on a happy mar- 
riage, Mrs. Wiggins?” 

“I did my best to make it so,” said she 
stiffly 

“You’re right,” said I. “Even in the face 
of unkindness we should strive — ” 

“My husband’s not unkind,” said Dolly. 

“I didn’t mean your husband,” said I. 

“What your poor wife would do if she cared 
a button for you, I don’t know,” observed 
Dolly. 

“If I had a wife who cared for me, I should 
be a better man,” said I solemnly. 

“But you’d probably be very dull,” said 
Dolly. “And you wouldn’t be allowed to 
drive with me.” 

“Perhaps it’s all for the best,” said ^bright- 
ening up. “Good-bye, Mrs. Wiggins.” 

Dolly walked on. Mrs. Wiggins held my 
hand for a moment. 

“Young man,” said she sternly, “are you 
sure it’s not your own fault?” 


170 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“I’m not at all sure, Mrs. Wiggins,” said 
]. “But don’t be distressed about it. It’s of 
no consequence. I don’t let it make me un- 
happy. Good-bye; so many thanks. Charm- 
ing girls you have here — especially that one 
in the fifth — I mean, charming, all of them. 
Good-bye.” 

I hastened to the carriage. Mrs. Wiggins 
stood and watched. I got in and sat down by 
Dolly. 

“Oh, Mrs. Wiggins,” said Dolly, dimpling, 
“don’t tell Mrs. Hilary that Archie wasn’t 
with us, or we shall get into trouble.” And 
she added to me, “Are you all light?” 

“Rather!” said I appreciatively; and we 
drove off, leaving Mrs. Wiggins on her door- 
step. 

A fortnight later I went to call on Mrs. 
Hilary. After some conversation she re- 
marked: 

“I’m going to the school again to-morrow.” 

“Really!” said I. 

“And I’m so delighted — I’ve persuaded 
Hilary to come.” 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE 


171 


She paused, and then added: 

“You really seemed interested last time.” 

“Oh, I was.” 

“Would you like to come again to- 
morrow?” 

“No, I think not, thanks,” said I carelessly. 

“That’s just like you!” she said severely. 
“You never do any real good, because you 
never stick to anything.” 

“There are some things one can’t stick to,” 
said I. 

“Oh, nonsense !” said Mrs. Hilary. 

But there are — and I didn’t go. 


XVIII 


Ube ©tber Xab£ 

“By the merest chance,” I observed med- 
itatively, “I attended a reception last night.” 

“I went to three,” said Lady Mickleham, 
selecting a sardine-sandwich with care. 

“I might not have gone,” I mused. “I might 
easily not have gone.” 

“I can’t see what difference it would make 
if you hadn’t,” said she. 

“I thought three times about going. It’s 
a curious world.” 

“What happened? You may smoke, you 
know.” 

“I fell in love,” said I, lighting a cigarette. 

Lady Mickleham placed her feet on the 
fender — it was a chilly afternoon — and turned 
her face to me, shielding it from the fire with 
her handkerchief. 


172 


THE OTHER LADY 


173 


“Men of your age,” she remarked, “have 
no business to be thinking of such things.” 

“I was not thinking of it,” said I. “I was 
thinking of going home. Then I was intro- 
duced to her.” 

“And you stayed a little, I suppose?” 

“I stayed two hours — or two minutes. I 
forget which;” and I added, nodding my head 
at Lady Mickleham, “There was something 
irresistible about me last night.” 

Lady Mickleham laughed. 

“You seem very pleased with yourself,” she 
said, reaching for a fan to replace the hand- 
kerchief. 

“Yes, take care of your complexion,” said 
I approvingly. “She has a lovely complex- 
ion.” 

Lady Mickleham laid down the fan. 

“I am very pleased with myself,” I contin- 
ued. “She was delighted with me.” 

“I suppose you talked nonsense to her.” 

“I have not the least idea what I talked to 
her. It was quite immaterial. The language 
of the eyes — ” 


174 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Oh, you might be a boy!” 

“I was,” said I, nodding again. 

There was a long silence. Dolly looked at 
me; I looked at the fire. I did not, however, 
see the fire. I saw something quite different. 

“She liked me very much,” I observed, 
stretching my hands out towards the blaze. 

“You absurd old man!” said Dolly. “Was 
she very charming?” 

“She was perfect.” 

“How? Clever?” 

I waved my hand impatiently. 

“Pretty, Mr. Carter?” 

“Why, of course; the prettiest creature I 
ever — But that goes without saying.” 

“It would have gone better without saying,” 
remarked Dolly. “Considering — ” 

To have asked “Considering what?” would 
have been the acme of bad taste. 

I merely smiled, and waved my hand again. 

“You’re quite serious about it, aren’t you?” 
said Dolly. 

“I should think I was,” said I indignantly. 
“Not to be serious in such a matter is to waste 
it utterly.” 


THE OTHER LADY 


175 


“I’ll come to the wedding,” said Dolly. 

“There won’t be a wedding,” said I. “There 
are Reasons.” 

“Oh! You’re very unlucky, Mr. Carter.” 

“That,” I observed, “is as it may be, Lady 
Mickleham.” 

“Were the Reasons at the reception?” 

“They were. It made no difference.” 

“It’s very curious,” remarked Dolly with 
a compassionate air, “that you always man- 
age to admire people whom somebody else 
has married.” 

“It would be very curious,” I rejoined, “if 
somebody had not married the people whom 
I admire. Last night, though, I made noth- 
ing of his sudden removal; my fancy rioted 
in accidental deaths for him.” 

“He won’t die,” said Dolly. 

“I hate that sort of superstition,” said I ir- 
ritably. “He’s just as likely to die as any 
other man is.” 

“He certainly won’t die,” said Dolly. 

“Well, I know he won’t. Do let it alone,” 
said I, much exasperated. It was probably 


176 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


only kindness, but Dolly suddenly turned her 
eyes away from me and fixed them on the fire; 
she took the fan up again and twirled it in 
her hand; a queer little smile bent her lips. 

“I hope the poor man won’t die,” said Dolly 
in a low voice. 

“If he had died last night!” I cried longing- 
ly. Then, with a regretful shrug of my shoul- 
ders, I added, “Let him live now to the crack 
of doom!” 

Somehow this restored my good humor. I 
rose and stood with my back to the fire, 
stretching myself and sighing luxuriously. 
Dolly leant back in her chair and laughed at 
me. 

“Do you expect to be forgiven?” she asked. 

“No, no,” said I; “I had too good an ex- 
cuse.” 

“I wish I’d been there — at the reception, I 
mean.” 

“I’m extremely glad you weren’t, Lady 
Mickleham. As it was, I forgot all my 
troubles.” 

Dolly is not resentful; she did not mind the 


THE OTHER LADY 


177 


implied description. She leant back, smiling 
still. I sighed again, smiled at Dolly, and 
took my hat. Then I turned to the mirror 
over the mantelpiece, arranged my necktie, 
and gave my hair a touch. 

“No one,” I observed, “can afford to neg- 
lect the niceties of the toilet Those dainty 
little curls on the forehead — ” 

“You’ve had none there for ten years,” cried 
Lady Mickleham. 

“I did not mean my forehead,” said I. 

Sighing once again, I held out my hand to 
Dolly. 

“Are you doing anything this evening?” she 
asked. 

“That depends on what I’m asked to do,” 
said I cautiously. 

“Well, Archie’s going to be the House, 
and I thought you might take me to the Phae- 
tons’ party. It’s quite a long drive — a hor- 
ribly long drive, Mr. Carter.” 

I stood for a moment considering this pro- 
posal. 

“I don’t think,” said I, “that it would be 
proper, ” 


178 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Why, Archie suggested it! You’re making 
an excuse. You know you are!” and Lady 
Mickleham looked very indignant. “As if,” 
she added scornfully, “you cared about what 
was proper!” 

I dropped into a chair, and said, in a con- 
fidential tone; “I don’t care a pin. It was 
a mere excuse. I don’t want to come.” 

“You’re very rude, indeed. Many women 
would never speak to you again.” 

“They would,” said I, “all do just as you 
will.” 

“And what’s that, Mr. Carter.” 

“Ask me again on the first opportunity.” 

“Why won’t you come?” said Dolly, waiv- 
ing this question. 

I bent forward, holding my hat in my left 
hand, and sawing the air with my right fore- 
finger. 

“You fail to allow,” said I impressively, 
“for the rejuvenescence which recent events 
have produced in me. If I came with you 
this evening I should be quite capable — ” I 
paused. 


THE OTHER LADY 


179 


“Of anything dreadful?” asked Dolly. 

“Of paying you pronounced attentions,” 
said I gravely. 

“That,” said Dolly with equal gravity, 
“would be very regrettable. It would be un- 
just to me — and very insulting to her, Mr. 
Carter.” 

“It would be the finest testimonial to her,” 
I cried. 

“And you’ll spend the evening thinking of 
her?” asked Dolly. 

“I shall get through the evening,” said I, 
“in the best way I can.” And I smiled con- 
tentedly. 

“What’s her husband?” asked Dolly sud- 
denly. 

“Her husband,” I rejoined, “is nothing at 
all.” 

Dolly, receiving this answer, looked at me 
with a pathetic air. 

“It’s not quite fair,” she observed. “Do 
you know what I’m thinking about, Mr. Car- 
ter?” 

“Certainly I do, Lady Mickleham. You 


180 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


are thinking that you would like to meet me 
for the first time.” 

“Not at all. I was thinking that it would 
be amusing if you met me for the first time.” 

I said nothing. Dolly rose and walked to 
the window. She swung the tassel of the 
blind and it bumped against the window. 
The failing sun caught her ruddy brown hair. 
There were curls on her forehead, too 

“It’s a grand world,” said I. “And, after 
all, one can grow old very gradually.” 

“You’re not really old,” said Dolly, with the 
fleetest glance at me. A glance should not 
be over-long. 

“Gradually and disgracefully,” I murmured. 

“If you met me for the first time” — said 
Dolly, swinging the tassel. 

“By Heaven, it should be the last !” I cried, 
and I rose to my feet. 

Dolly let the tassel go, and made me a 
very pretty curtsey. 

“I am going to another party to-night,” 
said I, nodding my head significantly. 

“Ah!” said Dolly. 


THE OTHER LADY 


181 


“And I shall again,” I pursued, “spend my 
time with the prettiest woman in the room.” 

“Shall you?” asked Dolly, smiling. 

“I am a very fortunate fellow,” I observed. 
“And as for Mrs. Hilary, she may say what 
she likes.” 

“Oh, does Mrs. Hilary know the — Other 
Lady?” 

I walked toward the door. 

“There is,” said I, laying my hand on the 
door, “no Other Lady.” 

“I shall get there about eleven,” said 
Dolly. 


XIX 


TObat /nMgbt Ibave Been 

Unfortunately it was Sunday; therefore the 
gardeners could not be ordered to shift the 
long row of flower-pots from the side of the 
terrace next the house, where Dolly had 
ordered them to be put, to the side re- 
mote from the house, where Dolly now 
wished them to stand. Yet Dolly could not 
think of living with the pots where they were 
till Monday. It would kill her, she said. So 
Archie left the cool shade of the great trees, 
where Dolly sat doing nothing, and Nellie 
Phaeton sat splicing the gig whip, and I lay 
in a deck-chair, with something iced beside 
me. Outside the sun was broiling hot, and 
poor Archie mopped his brow at every weary 
journey across the broad terrace. 

“It’s a burnin’ shame, Dolly,” said Miss 
182 


WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 


183 


Phaeton. “I wouldn’t do it if I were him.” 

“Oh, yes, you would, dear,” said Dolly. 
“The pots looked atrocious on that side.” 

I took a long sip from my glass, and ob- 
served in a meditative tone: 

“There, but for the grace of woman, goes 
Samuel Travers Carter.” 

Dolly’s lazy lids half lifted, kiss Phaeton 
mumbled (her mouth was full of twine): 

“What do you mean?” 

“ Nemo omnibus horis sapil t ” said I apolo- 
getically. 

“I don’t know what that means either.” 

“ Nemo — everybody,” I translated, “ sapit — 
has been in love — omnibus — once — horis — at 
least.” 

“Oh, and you mean she wouldn’t have 
you?” asked Nellie, with blunt directness. 

“Not quite that,” said I. “They — ” 

“They?” murmured Dolly, with half-lifted 
lids. 

“They” I pursued, “regretfully recognized 
my impossibility. Hence I am not carrying 
pots across a broad terrace under a hot sun.” 


184 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Why did they think you impossible?” 
asked Miss Phaeton, who takes much interest 
in this sort of question. 

“A variety of reasons: for one I was too 
clever, for another too stupid; for others too 
good — or too bad; too serious — or too frivol- 
ous; too poor or — ” 

“Well, no one objected to your money, I 
suppose?” interrupted Nellie. 

“Pardon me. I was about to say ‘or not 
rich enough.’ ” 

“But that’s the same thing.” 

“The antithesis is certainly imperfect,” I 
admitted. 

“Mr. Gay,” said Nellie, introducing the 
name with some timidity, “you know who I 
mean? — the poet — once said to me that man 
was essentially imperfect until he was mar- 
ried.” 

“It is true,” I agreed. “And woman until 
she is dead.” 

“I don’t think he meant it quite in that 
sense,” said Nellie, rather puzzled. 

“I don’t think he meant it in any sense,” 
murmured Dolly, a little unkindly. 


WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 


185 


We might have gone on talking in this way 
for ever so long had not Archie at this point 
dropped a large flower-pot and smashed it to 
bits. He stood looking at the bits for a mo- 
ment, and then came towards us and sank 
into a chair. 

“I’m off!” he announced. 

“And half are on one side, and half on the 
other,” said Dolly, regretfully. 

A sudden impulse seized me. I got up, put 
on my straw hat, took off my coat, walked out 
into the sun, and began to move flower-pots 
across the broad terrace. I heard a laugh from 
Archie, a little cry from Dolly, and from Nellie 
Phaeton, “Goodness, what’s he doin’ that for?” 
I was not turned from my purpose. The lun- 
cheon bell rang. Miss Phaeton, whip and 
twine in hand, walked into the house. Archie 
followed her, saying as he passed that he 
hoped I shouldn’t find it warm. I went on 
shifting the flower-pots. They were very 
heavy. I broke two, but I went on. Presently 
Dolly put up her parasol and came out from 
the shade to watch me. She stood there for 
a moment or two. Then she said: 


186 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Well, do you think you’d like it, Mr. 
Carter?” 

“Wait till I’ve finished,” said I, waving 
my hand. 

Another ten minutes saw the end of my task. 
Panting and hot I sought the shade, and 
flung myself on to my deck-chair again. I 
also lit a cigarette. 

“I think they looked better on the other 
side, after all,” said Dolly meditatively. 

“Of course you do,” said 1 urbanely. “You 
needn’t tell me that.” 

“Perhaps you’d like to move them back,” 
she suggested. 

“No,” said I. “I’ve done enough to create 
the impression.” 

“And how did you like it?” 

“It was,” said I, “in its way a pleasant 
enough illusion.” And I shrugged my shoul- 
ders, and blew a ring of smoke. 

To my very considerable gratification, 
Dolly’s tone manifested some annoyance as 
she asked: 

“Why do you say, ‘in its way’?” 


WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 


187 


“Because, in spite of the momentary pleas- 
ure I gained from feeling myself a married 
man, I could not banish the idea that we 
should not permanently suit one another.” 

“Oh, you thought that?” said Dolly, smil- 
ing again. 

“I must confess it,” said I “The fault, I 
know, would be mine.” 

“I’m sure of that,” said Dolly. 

“But the fact is that I can’t exist in too 
high altitudes. The rarefaction of the moral 
atmosphere — ” 

“Please don’t use all those long words.” 

“Well, then, to put it plainly,” said I, with 
a pleasant smile, “1 felt all the time that 
Mrs. Hilary would be too good for me.” 

It is not very often that it falls to my 
humble lot to startle Lady Mickleham out of 
her composure. But at this point she sat 
up quite straight in her chair; her cheek 
flushed, and her eyelids ceased to droop in 
indolent insouciance. 

“Mrs Hilary!” she said. “What has Mrs. 
Hilary—?” 


188 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“I really thought you understood,” said I, 
“the object of my experiment.” 

Dolly glanced at me. I believe that my 
expression was absolutely innocent — and I 
am, of course, sure that hers expressed mere 
surprise. 

“I thought,” she said, after a pause, “that 
you were thinking of Nellie Phaeton.” 

“Oh, I see,” cried I smiling “A natural 
mistake, to be sure!” 

“She thought so too, pursued Dolly, biting 
her lip. 

“Did she though?” 

“And I’m sure she’d be quite annoyed if 
she thought you were thinking of Mrs. 
Hilary.” 

“As a matter of fact,” I observed, “she 
didn’t understand what I was doing at all,” 

Dolly leant back. The relics of a frown 
still dwelt on her brow; presently, however, 
she began to swing her hat on her forefinger, 
and she threw a look at me. I immediately 
looked up toward the branches above my 
head. 


WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 


189 


“We might as well go in to lunch,” said 
Dolly. 

“By all means,” I acquiesced, with alacrity. 

We went out into the sunshine, and came 
where the pots were. Suddenly Dolly said: 

“Go back and sit down again, Mr. Carter.” 

“I want my lunch,” I ventured to observe. 

“Do as I tell you,” said Dolly, stamping 
her foot; whereat, much intimidated, I went 
back, and stretched myself once more on the 
deck-chair 

Dolly approached a flower-pot. She stooped 
down, exerted her strength, lifted it, and car- 
ried it, not without effort, across the terrace. 
Again she did the like. I sat smoking and 
watching. She lifted a third pot, but dropped 
it half way. Then, dusting her hands against 
one another, she came back slowly into the 
shade and sat down. I made no remark. 
Dolly glanced at me. 

“Well?” she said. 

“Woman — woman — woman!” said I sadly. 

“Must I carry some more?” asked Dolly, 
in a humble, yet protesting, tone. 


190 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


“Mrs. Hilary,” I began, “is an exceedingly 
attractive — ” 

Dolly rose with a sigh. 

“Where are you going?” I asked. 

“More pots,” said Dolly, standing opposite 
me. “I must go on, you see.” 

“Till when, Lady Mickleham?” 

“Till you tell the truth,” said Dolly, and 
she suddenly burst into a little laugh. 

“Woman — woman — woman!” said I again. 
“Let’s go in to lunch.” 

“I’m going to carry the pots,” said Dolly. 
“It’s awfully hot, Mr. Carter — and look at 
my poor hands!” 

She held them out to me. 

“Lunch !” said I. 

“Pots!” said Dolly, with infinite firmness. 

The window of the dining-room opened and 
Archie put his head out. 

“Come along, you two,” he called. “Every- 
thing’s getting cold.” 

Dolly turned an appealing glance on me. 

“How obstinate you are!” she said. “You 
know perfectly well — ” 

I began to walk towards the house. 


IVHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 


191 


“I’m going in to lunch,” said I. 

“Ask them to keep some for me,” said 
Dolly, and she turned up the sleeves of her 
gown, till her wrists were free. 

“It’s most unfair,” said I indignantly. 

“I don’t care if it is,” said Dolly, stooping 
down to lift a pot 

I watched her strain to lift it. She had 
chosen the largest and heaviest; she sighed 
delicately and delicately she panted. She also 
looked at her hands, and held them up for 
me to see the lines of brown on the pink. I 
put my hands in my pockets and said most 
sulkily, as I turned away towards the house: 

“All right. It wasn’t Mrs. Hilary then.” 

Dolly rose up, seized me by the arm, and 
made me run to the house. 

“Mr. Carter,” she cried, “would stop for 
those wretched pots. He’s moved all ex- 
cept two, but he’s broken three. Isn’t he 
stupid?” 

“You are an old ass, Carter,” said Archie. 

“I believe you’re right, Archie,” said I. 


XX 


One f n 

I had a very curious dream the other 
night. In fact, I dreamt that I was dead. I 
passed through a green baize door and found 
myself in a small square room. Opposite me 
was another door, inscribed “Elysian Fields,” 
and in front of it, at a large table with a 
raised ledge, sat Rhadamanthus. As I en- 
tered I saw a graceful figure vanish through 
the door opposite. 

“It’s no use trying to deceive me,” I ob- 
served. “That was Mrs. Hilary, I think; if 
you don’t mind, I’ll join her.” 

“I’m afraid I must trouble you to take a 
seat for a few moments, Mr. Carter,” said 
Rhadamanthus. “while I run over your little 
account.” 


192 


ONE IV AY IN 


193 


“Any formalities which are usual,” I mur- 
mured politely, as I sat down. 

Rhadamanthus turned over the leaves of a 
large book. 

“Carter — Samuel Travers, isn’t it?” he 
asked. 

“Yes. For goodness sake don’t confuse 
me with Vincent Carter. He only paid five 
shillings in the pound.” 

“Your case presents some peculiar features, 
Mr. Carter,” said Rhadamanthus. “I hope I 
am not censorious, but — well, that fine at 
Bow-street?” 

“I was a mere boy,” said I, with some 
warmth, “and my solicitor grossly misman- 
aged the case.” 

“Well, well!” said he soothingly. “But 
haven’t you spent a great deal of time at 
Monte Carlo?” 

“A man must be somewhere,” said I. 

Rhadamanthus scratched his nose. 

“I should have wasted the money anyhow,” 
I added. 

“I suppose you would,” he conceded. “But 


194 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


what of this caveat lodged by the Dowager 
Lady Mickleham? That’s rather serious, you 
know; isn’t it now— joking apart?” 

“I am disappointed,” I remarked, “to find a 
man of your experience paying any attention 
to such an ill-natured old woman.” 

“We have our rules,” he replied, “and I’m 
afraid, Mr. Carter, that until that caveat is 
removed — ” 

“You don’t mean that?” 

“Really, I’m afraid so.” 

“Then I may as well go back,” said I, tak- 
ing my hat. 

At this moment there was a knock at the 
door. 

“Although I can’t oblige you with an order 
of admission,” said Rhadamanthus, very 
civilly, “perhaps it would amuse you to listen 
to a case or two. There’s no hurry, you 
know. You’ve got lots of time before you ” 

“It will be an extremely interesting expe- 
rience,” said I, sitting down again. 

The door opened, and, as I expected (I 
don’t know why, bat it happens like that in 


ONE W A YIN 


195 


dreams), Dolly Mickleham came in. She did 
not seem to see me. She bowed to Rhada- 
manthus, smiled, and took a chair immedi- 
ately opposite the table. 

“Mickleham — Dorothea — Countess of — ” 
she said. 

“Formerly, I think, Dolly Foster?” asked 
Rhadamanthus. 

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it,” 
said Dolly. 

“The account runs on,” he explained, and 
began to consult his big book. Dolly leant 
back in her chair, slowly peeling off her gloves. 
Rhadamanthus shut the book with a bang. 

“It’s not the least use,” he said decisively. 
“It wouldn’t be kind to pretend that it was, 
Lady Mickleham.” 

“Dear, dear,” said Dolly. “What’s the 
matter?” 

“Half the women in London have petitioned 
against you.” 

“Have they really?” cried Dolly, to all ap- 
pearance rather delighted. “What do they 
say, Mr. Rhadamanthus? Is it in that book? 


196 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


Lot me look.” And she held out her hand. 

“The book’s too heavy for you to hold,” 
said he. 

“I’ll come round, ’’said Dolly. So she went 
round and leant over his shoulder and read 
the book. 

“What’s that scent you’ve got on?” asked 
Rhadamanthus. 

“Bouquet du diable,”said she. (I had never 
heard of the perfume before.) “Isn’t it 
sweet ?” 

“I haven’t smelt it since I was a boy,” 
sighed Rhadamanthus. 

“Poor old thing,” said Dolly. “I’m not 
going to read all this, you know.” And, with 
a somewhat contemptuous smile, she walked 
back to her chair. “They ought to be ashamed 
of themselves,” she added, as she sat down. 
“It’s just because I’m not a fright.” 

“Aren’t you a fright?” asked Rhadaman- 
thus. “Where are my spectacles?” 

He put them on and looked at Dolly. 

“I must go in, you know,” said Dolly, smil- 
ing at Rhadamanthus. “My husband has 
gone in !” 

“I shouldn’t have thought you’d consider 


ONE WAY IN 


197 


that conclusive,” said he, with a touch of 
satire in his tone. 

“Don’t be horrid,” said Dolly, pouting. 

There was a pause. Rhadamanthus exam- 
ined Dolly through his spectacles. 

“This is a very painful duty,” said he, at 
last. “I have sat here for a great many 
years, and I have seldom had a more painful 
duty.” 

“It’s very absurd of you,” said Dolly. 

“I can’t help it, though,” said he; 

“Do you really mean that I’m not to go 
in?” 

“I do, indeed,” said Radamanthus. 

Dolly rose. She leant her arms on the 
raised ledge which ran along the table, and 
she leant her chin on her hands. 

“Really?” she said. 

“Really,” said he, looking the other way. 

A sudden change came over Dolly’s face. 
Her dimples vanished; her eyes grew pathetic 
and began to shine rather than to sparkle; 
her lip quivered just a little. 

“You’re very unkind,” she said in an ex- 


198 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


tremely low tone. “I had no idea you would 
be so unkind.” 

Rhadamanthus seemed very uncomfort- 
able. 

“Don’t do that,” he said, quite sharply, 
fidgeting with the blotting paper. 

Dolly began to move slowly round the 
table. Rhadamanthus sat still. When she 
was standing close by him, she put her hand 
lightly on his arm and said: 

“Please do, Mr. Rhadamanthus.” 

“It’s as much as my place is worth,” he 
grumbled. 

Dolly’s eyes shone still, but the faintest 
little smile began to play about her mouth. 

“Some day,” she said (with total inappro- 
priateness, now I come to think of it, though 
it did not strike me so at the time), “you’ll be 
glad to remember having done a kind thing. 
When you’re old — because you are not really 
old now — you will say, * I’m glad I didn’t 
send poor Dolly Mickleham away crying.’ ” 

Rhadamanthus uttered an inarticulate 
sound — half impatience, half, I fancy, some- 
thing else. 


ONE WAY IN 


199 


“We are none of us perfect, I dare say. 
If I asked your wife — ” 

“I haven’t got a wife,”said Rhadamanthus. 

“That’s why you’re so hard-hearted,” said 
Dolly. “A man who’s got a wife is never 
hard on other women.” 

There was another pause. Then Rhada- 
manthus, looking straight at the blotting- 
paper, said: 

“Oh, well, don’t bother me. Be off with 
you;” and as he spoke, the door behind him 
opened. 

Dolly’s face broke out into sudden sun- 
shine. Her eyes danced, her dimples capered 
over her chin. 

“Oh, you old dear!” she cried; and, stoop- 
ing swiftly, she kissed Rhadamanthus. “You’re 
horribly bristly!” she laughed; and then, be- 
fore he could move, she ran through the 
door. 

I rose from my seat, taking my hat and 
stick in my hand. I felt, as you may sup- 
pose, that I had been there long enough. 
When I moved, Rhadamanthus looked up, 


200 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


and with an attempt at unconsciousness ob- 
served: 

“We will proceed with your case now, if 
you please, Mr. Carter.” 

I looked him full in the face. Rhadaman- 
thus blushed. I pursued my way towards the 
door. 

“Stop!” he said, in a blustering tone. “You 
can’t go there, you know.” 

I smiled significantly. 

“Isn’t it rather too late for that sort of 
thing?” I asked. “You seem to forget that 
I have been here for the last quarter of an 
hour.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to do it,” he 
protested. 

“Oh, of course,” said I, “that will be your 
story. Mine, however, I shall tell in my 
own way.” 

Rhadamanthus blushed again. Evidently 
he felt that he was in a delicate position. We 
were standing thus, facing one another, when 
the door began to open again, and Dolly put 
her head out. 


ONE WAY IN 


201 


“Oh, it’s you, is it?” she said. “I thought 
I heard your voice. Come along and help me 
to find Archie.” 

“This gentleman says I’m not to come in,” 
said I. 

“Oh, what nonsense! Now, you really 
mustn’t be silly, Mr. Rhadamanthus— or I 
shall have to — Mr Carter, you weren’t there, 
were you?” 

“I was — and a more interesting piece of 
scandal it has seldom been — ” 

“Hush! I didn’t do anything. Now, you 
know I didn’t, Mr. Carter!” 

“No,” said I,“you didn’t. But Rhadaman- 
thus, taking you unawares — ” 

“Oh, be off with you — both of you!” cried 
Rhadamanthus. 

“That’s sensible,” said Dolly. “Because, 
you know, there really isn’t any harm in poor 
Mr. Carter.” 

Rhadamanthus vanished. Dolly and I 
went inside. 

“I suppose everything will be very different 
here,” said Dolly, and I think she sighed. 


202 


THE DOLLY DIALOGUES 


Whether it were or not I don’t know, for 
just then I awoke, and found myself saying 
aloud, in answer to the dream-voice and the 
dream-face (which had not gone altogether 
with the dream), 

“Not everything ” — a speech that, I agree, 
I ought not to have made, even though it 
were only in a dream. 





























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